To Survive the Gathering Storm
by Silvermoon42
Summary: The resurrection of Voldemort goes against the laws of the universe, and threatens to overturn the balance of life and death. Alerted to the actions of the Dark Lord, the Shinigami descend upon the Wizarding World to set right what Voldemort shattered.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! If anyone recognizes me from my _Year__ stories, don't worry, this is not a rehash of those. It is very different and, (I hope) my writing has improved since then. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

 **Rated for safety and 'cause of a few swear words, but nothing major. Set during _Order of the Phoenix_ and after the Winter War. There may be spoilers.**

 **Disclaimer: All appropriate rights go to the owners of Bleach and Harry Potter.**

* * *

 _Cross_ at the performance of his subordinates, Hitsugaya Toshiro, Captain of the Tenth Division of the Gotei 13, was in the middle of demonstrating a particularly difficult move to a crowd of Shinigami when he felt it. A wave of _wrongness_ rippled through the air, as if the universe itself was screaming out in pain. Every Shinigami felt it, and shuddered, for it was a feeling that set them all on edge.

Captain Hitsugaya looked up from where he had his sword positioned against the neck of his demonstration partner. He stared out across the training field at nothing at all, trying to determine with his senses just what that wave had been. It was nothing he had ever felt before.

Drawing away from the other Shinigami, he held his zanpakuto to his back, absently willing the sheath of ice to form around the blade and secure it to the sash that ran across his chest. "Back to training," he called to his division members. "Pair up."

They did so, muttering with sudden anxiety, while Hitsugaya strode across the field, waving to his Third Seat. The man came jogging up. "Captain, what was that?" he asked. Hitsugaya shook his head.

"Take over the training."

He did not explain further, and the Third Seat left to go pick up instructing the sparring Shinigami. Captain Hitsugaya, meanwhile, went to the First Division.

Every Shinigami in Soul Society would want to know what was going on; as a Captain, he was expected to have the answer.

But he didn't. He was just as confused as they were, so he took to the rooftops to avoid any unwanted questions. It was a quicker route besides, and the Hell Butterfly he was expecting soon arrived with a light chime. He paused to receive its message, planting his feet firmly on both sides of the apex of the roof.

Captain-Commander Yamamoto's voice issued from the butterfly, deep and solemn. "All Captains are to report immediately to the First Division for an emergency meeting." Its message given, the butterfly dissolved on his hand.

Several minutes later, Hitsugaya dropped out of shunpo directly in front of the Captains' meeting hall, startling the two guards standing on either side of the door.

In a normal meeting, planned ahead of time, the Captains would come through the main gate and walk up to the meeting hall. But in order to speed the process along, Hitsugaya had bypassed the gate entirely, choosing instead to go over the wall - something that would ordinarily be considered rude in a Division not his own, but unexpected meetings required haste.

He was not the first to arrive - the Tenth Division was nearly as far away from the First as any of the Thirteen - and so found that the double-line of Captains was close to complete. He slipped into his spot and waited for the last Captains to arrive.

When Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku arrived, completing the lines (aside from the three spots conspicuously empty, remnants of the recent war), Yamamoto spoke. He did not need to slam his staff on the ground to gain their attention; the air in the meeting hall was fraught with tension.

"I am sure you all felt the disturbance not ten minutes ago," he said, and several of the Captains nodded. Movement from beside Hitsugaya caught his eye; he turned his head slightly to see Captain Kurotsuchi fiddling with a small device. "I will be frank with all of you, for this is not something to be taken lightly. That was the result of a being in the World of the Living being resurrected using the darkest of the Forbidden Arts."

The Captains were too disciplined to make a sound, but the air grew even more tense.

The Forbidden Arts were among the highest prohibited actions a being could take, living or dead. They dealt with the mutilation of a soul, and had the ability to knock the natural process of life, death, and rebirth out of alignment. For something to be dabbling with it now….

"Captain Kurotsuchi," Yamamoto rumbled, "have you been able to locate where this took place and who has committed this atrocity?"

"Tch!" the Twelfth Division Captain hissed. He smacked the small device with the back of one hand. "Our instruments are all registering the use of the Arts, but are unable to track them down."

"Something interfering with the signal?" Captain Kyoraku suggested, tipping his straw hat up to look at Kurotsuchi.

"Of course. My instruments do _not_ fail."

"Clearly," Captain Zaraki said, not even trying to be quiet.

"Fix them," Yamamoto boomed, ending the argument before it could even begin. "Captain Soifon, what have you heard?"

"Nothing as of yet." Her mouth twisted down into a scowl. "I have sent out my men, but without the search narrowed down to even a _country_ , I doubt they will find anything."

"There are the month-long patrols in the major cities," Kyoraku said. "One of them must have felt something. We can narrow it down that way."

Kurotsuchi's snort of derision said it all: None of them actually believed the Shinigami sent out for the month-long patrols would be of any use. Those assignments were generally given to the troublemakers of a Division, the soldiers a Captain wanted out of the way for a time. They were neither the strongest nor the smartest in the Gotei 13.

A silence fell over them all, broken only by the clicking of Kurotsuchi's fingers on the small device. His one long fingernail curved around it as he shifted it from one hand to another.

Hitsugaya closed his eyes. He had hoped, like everyone else, that after Aizen was defeated, things would settle down again. But of course they hadn't; they were Shinigami, in charge of keeping the balance, and there were always those who sought to disrupt the natural order.

Always.

"Then we must look at who would want to dabble in the Forbidden Arts," Captain Ukitake, the sickly head of the Thirteenth Division, said.

"And who is capable of doing so," the massive Captain of the Seventh, Komamura put in.

"That would be the most efficient way of discovering who it is," Soifon said. "The Quincy, for one."

"The Quincy were destroyed; they pose no threat."

"Not all of them," Captain Kuchiki said. "That Ryoka, the Ishida boy and his line."

"But he knows that we are watching him. He wouldn't be so foolish as to perform such an act."

"And who would he resurrect, regardless?"

"The other dead Quincy."

"Using what bodies as receptacles? It is not the Quincy - it simply is not logical for the boy to do that."

"It could be rogue Shinigami."

"But we have had no reports of any."

As the Captains continued to debate, Hitsugaya stared at a space ahead of him, just above where Tousen would have been standing. He was running through the options in his head, but nothing seemed quite right.

A light chime caught his attention, and he looked up to see a black butterfly fluttering down to him. He reached up and caught it. A man's voice echoed in his ear.

Hitsugaya smirked. Trust his subordinate to prove them wrong.

"I think," Hitsugaya said, interrupting Captain Zaraki, who was arguing in favor of just going down to the Living World and slaughtering anyone suspicious - or anyone with a high enough spiritual power, at the very least, "that this bickering is unnecessary."

"You got something to say, shrimp?" Zaraki scoffed.

"I do." Ignoring the slight, Hitsugaya lifted the Hell Butterfly that was settled on the back of his hand. "One of my men stationed in the UK reported a significant disturbance there. He believes it is connected to the Wizarding World."

~oOo~

The Tenth Division had somehow become specialized in undercover work. Some Divisions, like the Fourth or the Twelfth, changed their focus based on their Captains. Captain Urahara had transformed the Twelfth into the Research and Development Division, the one that creates such devices as the Hell Butterflies and monitors all the technology that the Shinigami used on a daily basis, and Captain Kurotsuchi continued the work.

Some, like the Tenth, just grew into their specialities.

Either way, Hitsugaya enjoyed undercover work. It was far different from the Second Division's duties - they were the spies, the watchers in the night, focusing little on Hollows. The Tenth, by contrast, ran reconnaissance, scouting the best routes for supply lines or camps or where to attack and defend. It appealed to the strategic side of Hitsugaya, the part of him that enjoyed planning things out and then seeing them executed.

As he ghosted through the hills of the World of the Living, heading for the meeting place that had been set up, he wondered if that was part of the reason he'd risen so quickly through the ranks.

The Shinigami stationed in this general area had requested to meet in a small village located in a valley - _small_ being the key word. Half of the village was clustered on one side of the valley, facing a surprisingly-large graveyard. An imposing mansion was on the other side of the graveyard, its rough stones dark in the afternoon light.

Hitsugaya arrived at the meeting point: a narrow jut of rock on the mansion's side of the valley. With the way the sun was casting shadows, he and his subordinate were indistinct shapes against the mass of rock behind. The man himself was standing on the edge of the rock, but looked back as the Captain arrived.

"Sir," he said, straightening to attention and giving a salute. Hitsugaya waved him down, walking up to gaze out across the valley.

"Report."

From here, Hitsugaya could easily sense the place where the Forbidden Arts had taken place; the graveyard seemed to roil with it, dark and oozing.

"I was patrolling several miles away," the subordinate said, gesturing vaguely away from the setting sun, "when I felt it happen. I couldn't locate it at first, but then Hollows started swarming the area."

"What makes you think the Wizards are involved?"

"I ran across a plus. He used to be the gardener of the house up there."

Hitsugaya raised his eyes to the mansion. The angle of light played about its walls and turrets, making the place seem not quite three-dimensional. But even from this distance, he could see the vines creeping up the weathered stones, and the wild, overgrown gardens surrounding it. It had not been tended to with any vigor for a long time.

"Not a very good one," he murmured, returning his gaze to the graveyard. He could see why the Hollows would be attracted to the place; it was giving off enough dark energy that he would be more surprised if they _weren't_.

"He was very old," the Shinigami said. "I asked him how he died, and he said that one night he saw a light in the house."

Hitsugaya's unimpressed look prompted the man to continue, telling the Captain what he knew about the intruders, and how the creature in the chair hadn't been natural: like a demon that had tried and failed to mimic a human form.

And, according to the gardener, there had once been a family that lived in the old manor; a family that had been murdered many years ago.

Humans murdering each other were common to the point of mundane; but this particular murder was strange. Done with locked doors, no physical signs of violence, and expressions of utter terror upon the corpses' faces….

"Have you searched the graveyard itself yet?" Hitsugaya asked. The man shook his head.

"No, Hollows keep-"

A screech interrupted him.

"-appearing," the man finished with an aggrieved sigh.

The Hollow was weak, not even very intelligent, and Hitsugaya dispatched it with one stroke. He turned to his subordinate. "Keep the Hollows away while I examine the graveyard." Not waiting for acknowledgement, Hitsugaya flash stepped down to the valley floor, walking carefully between the crumbling tombstones.

The dark, twisting reiatsu of the Forbidden Arts was strongest near the center of the yard, directly in front of a large marble headstone, blackened and streaked with age. Several yards before it, the grass was dead and withered, and it was there that Hitsugaya could nearly see the reiatsu seeping from every crevice.

A flash of tainted reiatsu caught his attention; this Hollow was stronger than the previous, but a moment later it disappeared. Satisfied that his subordinate could handle things, Hitsugaya pulled out his soul phone and dialed.

"Research and Development Institute, Third Seat Akon speaking."

"This is Captain Hitsugaya. I have located the site of the disturbance."

~oOo~

Things moved simultaneously very quick and very slow after that. Within a few days, the source of the Forbidden Arts was confirmed to be a wizard; evidently not a very powerful one, but a wizard nonetheless. Hitsugaya found himself spending an inordinate amount of time in the World of the Living - at least in Matsumoto's opinion, who found herself stuck with the paperwork - organizing his teams and searching himself.

The Wizarding World did not generally involve itself with the soul - and therefore the Shinigami did not bother with the 'hidden' society. Oh, they had their moments, such as the Philosopher's Stones, but that simply extended the life of a wizard, and did not affect his soul. Other than that, the wizards seemed to be largely unaware of how their magic could be applied to things other than mundane tasks easily completed with the hands.

Of course, there were always outliers to any rule.

The Wizarding War had been noted by the Shinigami stationed in the UK, but it just so happened that the Soul Society was going through a war of their own at the time, and little attention was therefore paid to the antics of the mortals. And later, reports on the Wizarding World were scarce, all available resources being used on the first priority of cleaning up after the war.

Hitsugaya found himself regretting this lamentable lack of information as he stood, bewildered, across from the soul of a wizard with blisteringly bright green robes.

Words and names, paradoxical phrases - You-Know-Who ( _No, I_ don't _know who!_ ) - places and creatures came rolling out of the man's mouth, until he wondered if the man even knew English.

It was not Hitsugaya's first language, and even though he could speak it fluently, it was as if the wizard was making up every third word.

Of course, the _stupid_ pointed hat didn't make the Captain any more inclined to trust him.

"Who is this Prophet you keep speaking of?" he asked, cutting off the man in the middle of a rant about something relating to dumb men and demented somethings.

"The _Daily Prophet_!" the man squeaked. "It's been saying dumb-dorf's an old coot, and Harry Potter's a liar! Of course, that bitch Skeeter's the one writing most of the articles- I met her once, you know? Her quill didn't copy _anything_ I was saying, but _no_ , she has to use a Quick-Quotes quill, and…"

Hitsugaya cast an exasperated look over his shoulder at the three Shinigami standing behind him. They looked back at him with baffled expressions. One of them had been making a valiant effort at taking notes, but now she was staring down at her notepad with an expression of being very close to either breaking down in tears or murdering someone.

Finally having had enough, Hitsugaya snapped his hand back to his zanpakuto and rapped the pommel against the plus's forehead, sending it on. He sighed and sheathed it again. "That was a colossal waste of time."

"Please tell me you have some super-secret Captain knowledge that can understand this." The woman waved her notes in the air. "Cause I can't, and I _wrote_ the damn things."

Hitsugaya grabbed the notes and looked them over. He could very easily see where the woman had lost the thread of conversation; not that he had done much better. "Unfortunately, no. I'll do some research tonight."

The thought held about the same appeal as would going out to fight Aizen alone. He wanted nothing more than to storm the Wizards' headquarters, demand answers, then freeze the place over in a block of ice, but this was supposed to be a stealthy mission. A large glacier in the middle of a London summer was pretty much the exact opposite of stealth.

"Let's go home, look this over with fresh eyes tomorrow."

His team gave a small cheer as he opened a Senkaimon and led them home.

~oOo~

"Captain! You're back!"

The cry greeted Hitsugaya as soon as he stepped into his office. He looked warily over to Matsumoto's desk, pleasantly surprised to see that the stack of incomplete paperwork was marginally smaller than the completed stack. "You did some work, thank the gods," he muttered, _not_ gracelessly collapsing onto the couch.

He uttered a low, toneless groan at the relief of being off his feet for the first time in what had been a very long couple of days.

"Tired, Captain?" Matsumoto asked in an entirely too innocent tone of voice. Hitsugaya exhaled another groan.

"Don't start, Matsumoto, I'm not in the- Is that a _pancake_ on the ceiling?"

A moment of silence, then: "Oh, is it? I hadn't noticed."

"You know what? I don't even want to know."

"That's probably in your best interest."

Hitsugaya allowed himself a minute or two of just mindlessly staring at the ceiling before opening the file on the Wizarding World that he'd taken from the archives. It was pitifully small, and wasn't much help in clearing up his subordinate's notes.

He sensed the reiatsu nearing the door before he even heard the knock. Sitting up, he called, "Come in." The door slid open to reveal a man he vaguely recognized as one of the unranked members of his Division.

"Sir, there's a disturbance in the dining hall."

"What _kind_ of disturbance?"

The soldier hesitated, a flush creeping up from his neck. "Um, it's rather hard to explain. Could you just...make them stop? Please?"

Well, now Hitsugaya was curious. He closed the file, sliding the page of notes under the front cover, and followed the man out the office and across the courtyard, Matsumoto trailing along behind.

The courtyard was, unsurprisingly, nearly empty at this time of night. The few people occupying it were sitting on the edge of the fountain in the center, trays of food balanced on their knees. One was laughing so hard he nearly choked.

Shouting could clearly be heard as the three Shinigami approached the doors to the dining hall. The soldier leading the Captain and Vice-Captain paused outside, his face now fully red. "They're drunk," he said miserably. "They wouldn't listen to the Third Seat."

Hitsugaya raised an eyebrow. They had _better_ be drunk, to refuse an order from a superior officer. He would excuse that - with a punishment, of course - but he was not known for regarding insubordination with leniency.

The unranked soldier opened the door, stepping to the side to allow him entrance. Shouted words floated out, such words as 'bigger', 'better', and a bellowed "Oh _yeah_? Yours is smaller than a _carrot_!" could clearly be heard over the din.

The poor soldier blanched. Hitsugaya took a deep breath. He got the feeling he would need all the patience he could muster.

He walked in.

 _That's a penis,_ was his first thought. His second was: _Well, it's hairier than a carrot._

Matsumoto barked a laugh behind him. She clapped a hand over her mouth, then snorted.

The dining hall was a cacophony of jumbled shouts, laughter, jeers, and mocking whistles. All of it was aimed at the two men drunkenly swaying on a table near one side of the dining hall. The Tenth Division's Third Seat was nearby, face red, shouting for them to _get down_.

The two men were completely naked.

Matsumoto's attempts at quelling her laughter were completely ineffectual; she patted him on the back, shoving him a step forward. "I'll let you have this one!" she cackled.

Hitsugaya saw, with some relief, that most of the women in the Division were taking this in good humor.

In the back of his mind, a previously-napping dragon chuckled. He sent a single word up to Hitsugaya.

A laugh burst out before he could contain himself. He fought the grin that Matsumoto had dubbed his 'bout to f- shit up' grin, and let his intimidating reiatsu seep into the room.

His _cold_ reiatsu.

The two men on the table looked down in horror, hurriedly attempting to cover themselves up. A hush fell over the dining hall, every eye turning to him. Hitsugaya took a deep breath in the silence when the door opened, letting in a warm gust of air.

"Captain!" the new Shinigami cried, immediately spotting said officer. "You-" He broke off, catching sight of the unusual sight on the table, then shook himself. "You need to come right away, sir."

"Deal with this," Hitsugaya murmured to Matsumoto as he followed the man out into the night. "What is it?"

"In the Living World, he- There's something wrong with him! He won't respond to us!"

Reaching the gates of the Division, Hitsugaya turned to head in the direction of the Senkaimon, but the man went the other way. "We brought him back to the Fourth. He wouldn't-" The man broke off, and all the way to the Healing Division, Hitsugaya pretended that he didn't notice the silvery tears tracking down his face.

~oOo~

Harry Potter was angry. No - he was more than angry; he was _pissed_. He kicked at a rock on the ground, sending it spinning away into the street.

The day had started off surprisingly well, considering. But of course it couldn't last. Because he was Harry _freaking_ Potter, and he'd stupidly gotten his hopes up that his friends would come get him today, his birthday. No, _instead_ they sent him candy and patronizing notes.

The chocolates had gone in the trash, and the cards he'd burned with the unused fire-starter his aunt and uncle kept on the mantle.

He was regretting throwing out the chocolate. He'd only gotten a salad for dinner, and now he was hungry.

 _I bet Ron and Hermione are having the time of their lives, living it up at the Burrow,_ he thought. Angry, he kicked at another rock, this one flying up and denting the driver side door of a shiny blue car. He stared at the dent, a thrill of shock and genuine regret passing through him.

"Hey! _Hey!_ "

A man was hurrying towards him, having dropped a shopping bag. "Hey you!" he shouted, voice rising in pitch. Harry stared dumbly at the man for a moment before bolting.

He knew the area from all the times Dudley and his gang had chased him, and was easily able to lose the man in the dark. But then he heard the police sirens, and knew he was in trouble.

"It was just a scratch!" he snarled, scrambling over a chain link fence. "What the f-"

A powerful light swept around the mouth of the alley he was currently in; Harry dove behind a large industrial trash bin and waited until the police cruiser rolled away, heart pounding in his ears. He swallowed, and put his hand down to boost himself up.

His hand squished into something slimy. Harry groaned and wiped the gunk off as best he could on the brick behind him, then used the wall as leverage to pull himself up. A flickering streetlight cast just enough illumination that he could see some unidentifiable substance coating his shirt and forearms, no doubt put there in his panicked dive.

"Great, just great," he muttered. "And I can't even use magic to get it off, _thanks_ Dumbledore!"

He wasn't really sure why he was blaming all of this on Dumbledore, but he was tired, hungry, covered in trash, and now, to top it all off, a fugitive.

Dumbledore could go screw himself.

"Chosen One," Harry grumbled, walking out of the alley and heading home. "Yeah, right. Voldemort see me now, he'd probably laugh himself to death. There you go. Problem solved. Happy now?"

He was so engrossed in his mutterings that he didn't notice the cold tint to the air, or the frost that started creeping up behind him. He was in an industrial area, and the old warehouses and building complexes loomed up in the dark, windows black pits.

"Perfect horror movie setting," he said out loud, just stopping himself from kicking at a wadded-up newspaper. With his luck, there'd be a bomb or something inside, and he'd lose his foot.

 _Maybe that wouldn't be so bad,_ he thought, coming to a halt in the middle of the deserted sidewalk. _I wouldn't be expected to do everything all the time, while_ no one _tells me_ anything _!_

Foul mood restored, he shivered. Then made a face. It was the middle of a summer night; even in London, he shouldn't be cold.

Then he felt the familiar sinking feeling in his stomach, and turned to see a cloaked figure float into the street several meters away. "Crap," he whispered vehemently, backing away. With any luck, the dementor wouldn't notice him.

It did.

For the second time that night, Harry Potter ran.

And hated every single second of it.

The Dursleys' house was only a few minutes away. He could make it. Harry pelted down the street and spotted the path that would lead straight to the park near the house. He skidded around a corner and slammed into something soft.

Both he and the person he'd hit tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Harry raised himself up, groaning, and found himself staring directly at a large pair of breasts. Flushing, he made himself look up, into the partly stunned, partly amused blue eyes of a very attractive woman.

Harry's brain promptly did a flying leap and died.

"Um," he said. The woman blinked a few times and focused on him. Her full lips curved up into a smile.

"Well hello there. In a rush, are we?"

His brain was slow to start up again; when it did, Harry realized that he was partially lying on the woman, and that, propped up on his elbows as he was, her breasts were just barely brushing his chest as she breathed.

A deep, disapproving voice said something from behind him.

Harry jerked back as if electrocuted and scrambled to his feet. He slid his hands into the pockets of his pants, balling them into fists in an effort to pull the material away from his body. "Sorry," he muttered, head down, and ran as fast as he could. Behind him, he heard the woman giggling.

When he got home, he flung himself into bed, and it wasn't until much later that he remembered the dementor.

It wasn't until the next morning that he realized he was missing his glasses.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to everyone for your support. Hopefully this measures up to your expectations.**

 **Disclaimer: All appropriate rights go to the owners of Bleach and Harry Potter.**

* * *

" _Not_ the time for that, Matsumoto," Hitsugaya said, looking down the path where the black-haired boy had fled. His Vice-Captain got up, still giggling.

"See Captain, I told you boys just throw themselves at me."

"Matsumoto," Hitsugaya sighed.

"I wonder why he was running," Matsumoto said, putting a finger to her lip. "He's a bit young to be out this late."

"Forget about him. I found what attacked Shinkai." Hitsugaya jerked a thumb behind him at the creature currently trapped in a high-level Bakudo.

The creature itself was hideous, even to Hitsugaya, who generally reserved any serious judgements based on looks for Hollows. It was wearing a ragged black cape, and its face, under the hood, was all dead, stretched skin and a wide, gaping mouth.

Matsumoto, inspecting the thing from a distance, shuddered and cast him a confused look. "That thing's making it so cold?" she asked.

"So it would appear."

His Second Seat looked at the hooded creature, then at Hitsugaya, then back to the creature. She giggled.

Hitsugaya, in the middle of opening a Senkaimon, looked over his shoulder. "What now?" he asked, irritated. It had taken them several days of relentless searching to find one of these creatures, and all he wanted to do at the moment was hand it off to the goons in the Twelfth and go to bed. He had very little patience left to deal with his vivacious Vice-Captain.

"This is kinda how the new recruits see you when you're yelling at them."

Hitsugaya turned to glare at the woman; a glint of moonlight off something small diverted his annoyance. "Oi, the kid dropped his glasses."

Matsumoto picked them up, only to drop them very suddenly.

"They aren't very heavy; I'm sure you can hold them," Hitsugaya drawled. But then she glanced over at him as she crouched by the glasses, and the look in her eyes instantly checked any further remarks. "What is it?" He moved to her side, ignoring the Hell Butterflies fluttering around his head.

"I think we found ourselves a wizard," the blonde replied.

She was right. As soon as Hitsugaya touched the rim of the glasses, he could feel the reiatsu practically dripping off the rims. And something else, but it was so faint he discarded it as something unique to wizards.

"Take it with us," Hitsugaya ordered, standing. "I'm sure Kurotsuchi will like it."

He did. Not as much as the dark creature that Hitsugaya was only too happy to hand off, but they received an excited glance-over as soon as he got his hands on them.

"Good, good," the scientist muttered, walking away. "So much to do…. I think I'll give this to Nemu - no. Too important. She can't handle things delicately…"

Almost immediately upon entering his office Hitsugaya was summoned to the Fourth, where he was ushered to the quarantine room his injured man was in. Unohana met him outside, and they gazed into the room through the protective glass to see the man disintegrate into spirit particles.

Hitsugaya's hands balled into fists, he said, "We found the creature that did it. I just gave it to Kurotsuchi."

The gentle healer-Captain placed a hand on his shoulder. "There was nothing that could be done for him," she said, voice soft. "His reiatsu was gone before he even got here."

Hitsugaya shot the other Captain a startled look. "Then how did he survive this long?"

"That is one mystery among many." The hand on his shoulder slid down to his back and pushed him down the hall. "Go. I can feel that you are tired."

It was true, but he didn't like having it said, regardless of _who_ said it. He inclined his head briefly to her and walked out of her Division, back to his own.

~oOo~

Harry was tired of everyone asking what happened to his glasses. It was all he heard nowadays, from when Lupin and Mad-Eye and the others came to get him at the Dursleys' - that broom ride had _not_ been fun, considering he couldn't see where he was going, and was half convinced he was about to crash into a bridge or something - to now, as he tried to explain to Mr. Weasley how to purchase their Underground train tickets.

Harry would have done it himself, but, as everyone kept so helpfully pointing out, _he was missing his glasses!_

"Look, how much for one ticket?" Harry asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"But there's two of us. So we need two tickets, but I can't tell which…"

They were never going to get to the Ministry of Magic on time. Harry just knew it. They were going to be late, and his trial was going to be over, and he was going to be expelled, and his wand was going to be snapped.

"I _know_ we need two tickets. The prices listed are for one. So we just double it."

" _Oh!_ So when it says seven, it really means fourteen?"

"Yes."

"How much is that in Galleons?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Well, if I know how much it is in real money, then I can convert it…." Mr. Weasley started shuffling the notes in his hands. "What's the conversion rate?"

"Don't care." Harry wanted to punch something. Or someone. Preferably someone. One someone in particular. Though he doubted Ron would appreciate that. Maybe he could punch him too.

They stepped up to the ticket booth and the guard, who appeared to be lightly dozing, droned, "Money please."

"Well, I'm trying," Mr. Weasley said, giving a sheepish smile to the guard, whose bored look said he gave absolutely zero shits. "But I don't quite know-"

"Oh, just-" Harry grabbed the Muggle money from the bumbling Weasley and shoved it to the guard. "Two tickets."

Several minutes later, they were pushing their way onto the train, and Harry sat down in one of the hard plastic seats, Mr. Weasley on one side and a rotund man with poor hygiene on the other.

"All right, we have a ways to go," Mr. Weasley muttered, seemingly much better at understanding Muggle maps than Muggle money. "Get comfortable, I guess."

Harry tuned him out. He was in no mood to answer any questions about how Muggles did this, how they did this, what they used to do that.

Suddenly Mr. Weasley leaned down to whisper in Harry's ear. "That guy across from us, the one with the newspaper. I don't think he's Muggle."

Harry peered across the aisle, pretending to study the map laminated into the ceiling. He could just make out the man Mr. Weasley was talking about, and had to agree. Although he wasn't wearing robes or a pointed hat, something about him just seemed... _off_. He looked vaguely terrified every time the train car lurched. The man was looking down at the newspaper, but somehow Harry didn't get the impression he was actually reading it.

"This is London," he whispered back to Mr. Weasley. "There's a lot of weird people here. It's probably nothing."

"Still. Keep an eye on him."

Harry just looked up at the elder man in silence. Mr. Weasley seemed to realize his mistake. He winced.

"Oh, right. The glasses…."

~oOo~

Fukase Yunosuke came out of his flash step before Hitsugaya and Matsumoto and dropped to one knee. "Sir, the boy and his guardian disappeared in a telephone booth."

"Disappeared how?"

Fukase frowned, a muscle jumping in his neck. "They went down," he reported reluctantly.

" _Down_?" Matsumoto repeated.

"Down."

Hitsugaya shook his head. Wizards. "Did they see you?"

At this Fukase's head dipped and his shoulders hunched a little. "I believe so, sir," he admitted, not making eye contact. "I'm sorry sir, but they went on the Underground train, and I had to follow…"

Hitsugaya waved a hand. He fell silent. "We'll just have someone else follow them back to their base."

Fukase sunk a bit lower. Matsumoto shot her Captain an exasperated look and drew the kneeling subordinate to his feet. "Don't worry about it," she said to the man. "This happens all the time. And now we know where the Wizards are."

Fukase brightened. "Yes ma'am!" he cried. "Anything else?"

"Keep an eye on the telephone booth. Let us know when they leave."

Snapping a quick salute, Fukase flashed away. Matsumoto turned to find Hitsugaya staring at her with his brows furrowed. "I'm telling you, they're terrified of you when you're mad."

"I'm not mad at him."

"Ah, but _he_ doesn't know that." Matsumoto waved a finger. "All he knows is that he messed up and you're having someone else do his job."

Hitsugaya huffed and looked out over the city. Even here, atop a tall building, the sounds of the humans below drifted up. The air here was polluted and reeked of smoke and exhaust, nothing like the clean air of the Soul Society. "I'm replacing him because the targets saw him," he said at last.

"Captain."

Her tone got him to look back at her. Gone was the laughing eyes and amused expression; now the Vice-Captain was serious, lips pursed.

"Part of the reason we work so well together is that I can read people better than you can."

Normally Hitsugaya would get offended at that, but it was true.

"And I'm telling you now, that guy is afraid that you're going to punish him for messing up."

Hitsugaya turned away from his Second, stepped up onto the ridge of brick bordering the building's roof, and looked down. People scurried about down below, blissfully unaware of the dead spirit watching them.

"He was doing his job," Hitsugaya murmured, still looking down. As the traffic light changed, a late car sped up and just barely made it through the intersection without hitting anyone else. Horns blared their anger at the driver. "The Division should know by now that I do not punish honest mistakes."

Matsumoto said nothing. For a long time they stood there in silence, each alone with their own thoughts. More horns blared in the distance, followed by an echoing crunch of metal against metal.

"Humans," the Vice-Captain said, rolling her eyes. Hitsugaya shared the sentiment, if not verbally.

A sound like tearing paper broke the silence. Fukase had returned, and was once again kneeling before Captain Hitsugaya. "Sir, the wizards have left the telephone booth and are making their way back to their base."

Hitsugaya nodded in response. He was about to send the Shinigami away when he could just _feel_ Matsumoto's eyes boring into his back. He let out a soft breath. "Good work."

As easy as it was to tear down, so too was it to rebuild. Fukase lifted his head, grinning. "Thank you, sir!" He flashed away.

Hitsugaya didn't need to turn around to see the smug look Matsumoto was without a doubt sporting. "Not a word, Matsumoto," he said, deciding to go see if the crash had produced any souls for burial. "Not a single one."

~oOo~

Mad-Eye Moody looked around at all of them, his magical eye fixated on the door. "You all ready?" he growled. There was a low affirmative mumble from all the people crammed into the narrow hall. "Good. Let's go. Molly, Potter, you first."

Harry clambered his way out the door, following Mrs. Weasley, and stood blinking for a moment in the bright sunlight. "Come on dear, let's start. It's a long walk."

Mrs. Weasley set off down the street, Harry and Sirius - in dog form - trailing along behind. Tonks joined them briefly, winking at Harry before dropping back to walk behind the group.

Despite the danger that he was supposedly in, Harry was very glad to get out of the house. Even the smoggy London air felt cool and fresh compared the stuffy atmosphere in Grimmauld Place.

Romping beside Harry, Sirius broke off to bark at a couple of cats lounging in the sun on top of a low wall. They stood, backs arched, and hissed at Sirius before jumping down the other side. Sirius appeared back at Harry's side, tongue lolling happily.

They were only a few blocks from the train station when they heard it: a loud screech, high pitched and warbling, like a cat that had its tail stepped on by a horse. Harry and Mrs. Weasley looked around, the witch with her wand out, and Harry with his heart starting to race. If something happened, he couldn't use his wand - the Ministry was already watching him - but if they were attacked, what spell would he use? Would stunning spells work? Would he have to use something more powerful?

"Come on," Mrs. Weasley said tersely, grasping his arm and pulling him along as she started running. Sirius jogged beside them in a loping gait, his ears pricked and his nose into the wind.

There was something wrong with this, Harry realized as he struggled to keep his strides short so as not to outpace Mrs. Weasley. It hit him as they crossed an intersection, pushing past the pedestrians ambling along: None of the Muggles had reacted to the screech. One man in a business suit even yelled angrily at the witch and wizard as they passed.

"I don't think," Harry started, just as another screech - this one even louder and closer - sounded, and a car imploded.

"My word!" Mrs. Weasley gasped, staring. Harry stood beside her, speechless.

A large, boxy car was sitting low on the street, its roof smashed in and shattered glass dusting the hot metal. Someone was climbing out of the dented top, using a long, curved sword as leverage.

 _Now_ the Muggles noticed. They were gathering around the wrecked car, its alarm blaring shrilly. Several had their bulky cameras out, taking rapid pictures. Harry peered at the screen of one, and saw-

Wait.

The man with the sword was now standing on the car, shaking out his arms and rolling his shoulders.

But he didn't show up on the camera.

What?

"Mrs. Weasley-" Harry began to share this discovery, that none of the Muggles seemed concerned about, but she grabbed his arm again and started towards the train station once more.

As Harry was dragged around a corner, he looked back to see the man with the sword disappear. Not Apparate, just vanish.

That couldn't be right. Harry must not have seen correctly.

Mrs. Weasley bustled him into the station and through the brick wall with no pomp. She hugged him, looked over her shoulder, and pushed him towards the train. "Stay safe, dear," she said.

"What was that?" Harry dug in his heels, desperate for answers. "I've never heard anything like that before."

"Probably just an animal," the red-headed witch replied with a tight smile. "On the train now, there you go. The others will be right behind you. Have a good year; good luck with your O.W.L.s."

Oh, right, those. Harry had forgotten. But by then others were trying to get on the train and he had to go in or be squashed. The train was unusually full this year, although no one seemed to be paying him much attention. He heard snatches of conversation as he searched for an empty compartment.

" _Huge!_ Bigger than my house."

"Yellow eyes…"

"Terrifying - my owl…"

"...the weird people?"

"Had...swords. _Swords!_ "

"Was it an attack?"

"Hey Harry!"

Blinking, Harry looked down at Neville, who was red-faced and puffing, dragging his trunk with one hand and clamping shut the pocket of his shirt with the other, which was making baleful croaking sounds. "Hello Neville," Harry replied. "Did you see-"

"That creature thing? No." Harry's shoulders slumped. "Heard it though. Weird thing - the Muggles didn't even jump. Nearly gave my Grandmother a heart attack though."

The two boys trudged down the train, shoving their way past the milling, whispering students. Now Harry was beginning to get stared at, although it was far less than what he'd been expecting, considering what the _Daily Prophet_ had been printing about him recently.

"I think we're gonna have to sit in the hall," Neville said morosely as they reached the end of the corridor and still hadn't found a compartment.

"Nah, this one only has a girl in it." Harry looked surreptitiously through the glass door, at a pale girl with long hair reading a newspaper...upside down. Neville leaned in beside him, took one look, and shook his head.

"Uh-uh. Nope. Not that one. Definitely not that one."

"Why not? There's only one of her and two of us."

"That's Lo-" Neville broke off and glanced around. "Loony Luna," he whispered.

"Who?"

"Loony Luna. She's in Ravenclaw."

"Oh, come on. That can't be her real name." But Harry peeked back into the compartment, only to find the girl staring at them. Harry jumped back, flattening against the wall. "She saw us," he hissed. Neville's eyes widened.

"What do we do?"

"You wimps, just go in there." Ginny materialized out of the crowd of students, her red hair gleaming in the lights. Some of it was sticking to her face, her skin slicked with sweat. "Here's your trunk, Harry."

"Oh, right. Thanks." In the rush to the station, he'd forgotten that Moody was supposed to bring their stuff. He reached for it and Hedwig's cage, and spotted a long scratch on her arm. "Hey, what happened to your arm?"

"Huh?" Ginny looked down, only just now seeming to realize that she was bleeding. "Oh, I hadn't noticed that."

"But what happened? Were you attacked?"

"I'll tell you inside. Come on." Taking charge, Ginny opened the compartment door. "Hey Luna," she said, heaving her trunk up onto the rack above the seats. "Mind if we sit here?"

The girl nodded, looking the boys over, but said nothing.

Ginny plopped down next to the window. "That's Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. Guys, this is Luna Lovegood."

Harry waved awkwardly. Neville squeaked. They sat.

"So...what happened to your arm?" Then Harry frowned. "And where are Ron and Hermione? Are they alright?"

"Yeah they're fine. We all boarded the train together. They had a prefect meeting."

Something hard settled in his gut. Harry swallowed. "Oh."

"Yeah, anyway…" Ginny leaned forward, and the boys mimicked her. Luna went back to reading her upside-down newspaper. "I saw what that thing was."

"You did?" Neville's eyes went round. "What was it?"

"I have no idea. We just heard that roar and ran. It came up the street behind us." Ginny waved her hand, eyes gleaming. She seemed more excited than upset. "It was really big. Taller than four stories, I think."

"What'd it look like?" Now that the adrenaline had faded, Harry felt foolish. He could have fought it, whatever it was. It was probably just an escaped magical creature.

Then his mind flashed back to the man that had gotten thrown onto the roof of the car, and the way the metal had bent around him. Thinking back, Harry was surprised the guy was still alive, let alone able to stand. Who _was_ that guy?

"Uh…" Ginny crossed her arms, heedless of the blood that transferred itself to her robes. "Big and kinda greyish. Two legs - no, four. Two legs and two arms. It had a tail, I think. Yeah, I remember that, 'cause the tail knocked over a car."

"A _car?_ " Neville echoed. "What kind of monster could do that?"

"Oh, and I got this really weird feeling," Ginny continued, gripping her arms and shivering. "Like the air got hard to walk in, or something. I didn't like it."

"Were there people? I saw a person," Harry interjected.

Ginny clapped her hands suddenly, making Neville jump. "Yeah!" she cried. "Yeah, there were these guys in black pajama things with - get this! - swords. Like, real swords!"

"My guy had one too," Harry said, remembering. "He got thrown into a car and was totally fine. Got up and just disappeared."

"They are the gatekeepers of the Underworld," said Luna, hitherto silent. Ginny, Harry, and Neville went quiet, staring at her. The pale girl didn't even look up from her newspaper. "They kill the monsters and drag people with them back to their world."

For several minutes, there was complete silence in the compartment. Then there was a knock on the door. Harry bolted to his feet.

"Food cart," a voice called.

Harry wasn't hungry.

~oOo~

The conditions were not, all things considered, the best in which to be facing enemies of unknown strength, abilities, and numbers. The rainy weather dropped visibility to near zero, and the constant downpour soaked their normally weather-resistant uniforms.

Hitsugaya shoved his sodden hair out of his face for what felt like the hundredth time that night. There was a _reason_ that he kept his hair where it normally was, out of his eyes, and he did not appreciate having to constantly fight it.

Nor did he appreciate the reason why he was out here in the first place, sopping wet in the middle of nowhere. At least he wasn't cold. His zanpakuto made sure of that.

Still, following a train was boring, when nothing was attacking it. And Hitsugaya was supposed to protect the train - well, the souls inside, really - from any Hollows that might be seeking an easy meal, all while keeping an eye on the Twelfth Division scientist fiddling with something on the roof. _He_ was cold; every so often when the Captain went to go check on him, the man was practically shivering himself off the roof.

And this was all because of the attack in London earlier that day. For whatever reason, the concealment wards around the human train station had fallen, and the reiatsu of hundreds of wizards were suddenly exposed. Hitsugaya remembered the shock of sensing so much all at once, and the realization that so much spiritual power concentrated in one place was going to draw the attention of Hollows.

He knew he could deal with what came, even with the limiter on, but he hadn't been so sure about his men…

~oOo~

 _Hitsugaya was making the jump between two buildings when he felt as if something had smashed into his chest at maximum velocity. Landing on the roof with a slight stumble, he rubbed at his chest, relieved to find no injury. The tightness was lifting, but when he spread his senses in an attempt to find the cause of the disturbance, the unexpected presence of hundreds of new souls all pressed together made him nauseous._

 _His Fourth Seat landed beside him, grimacing. "What_ was _that?" he exclaimed. "Did a bomb go off or something? I can feel so many new souls all of a sudden!"_

" _Something to do with the Wizards," Hitsugaya responded, moving towards the mass of now-exposed reiatsu. His Fourth Seat followed along behind, just barely able to keep up with the determined Captain. Seeing the soldier falling back, Hitsugaya measured his pace so he could talk to the man. "Whatever was concealing them from our senses just fell."_

" _Well, they have an eye for flair," his Fourth, Noya Sanzo, muttered._

 _Arriving on scene, Hitsugaya landed on the roof of a building across from a train station. It appeared that none of the mortals had noticed anything had gone wrong - there was a lack of urgency to their movements, and he could even see one family take the time to talk to one of the leafleteers handing out pamphlets to passerby._

 _From here, it was a simple matter to pick out the wizards, even without sensing them. They were the ones who looked like they were trying to fit in with the non-magical humans, but their idea of acceptable fashion came from a catalogue a few years old. They were also, conspicuously, the ones lugging massive trunks and birdcages._

 _He could sense the first Hollow arrive moments before his soul phone buzzed. "Contact the Kido Corp," he told Noya, looking out across the city at where he could see the fallen soul beating its way through the air on clawed wings. "Tell them to send someone out to put up barriers to hide the Wizards' spiritual pressure. Until then, the Hollows will just keep coming."_

 _Noya nodded, and was sending the message as Hitsugaya flashed away, touching briefly on the top of a flagpole before launching himself. He appeared above the Hollow, sword angled down, and purified it before it could take another wing-beat. But that wasn't the last of it; more Hollows were appearing, drawn by their primordial hunger. Hitsugaya sent a quick message to his Third Seat still stationed in the Soul Society, requesting backup._

 _He was a Captain, but he could only do one thing at a time._

 _It would take time for reinforcements to arrive, so he spun in the air and flashed away, toward his next target. This one was stronger than the previous, but still didn't even require Shikai. He lobbed off one claw, darted under a spiked arm, and sliced its mask in half, halting its advance on someone wearing dark robes._

 _The next Hollow was approaching from the southwest; to get there Hitsugaya had to cross directly over the train station, something he was reluctant to do, given the Wizards' ability to see Shinigami in their spirit form. So he took a roundabout route, arriving just in time to see his Fourth Seat straightening up behind the disintegrating Hollow._

 _Hitsugaya made a circling gesture with his hands, jerking them around each other. Noya Sanzo nodded, and they took off in tandem, the Captain positioning himself on the other side of the building. He sensed a Hollow to the west; upon arriving, he found it suspended between two buildings, two of its four arms hooked into the steel of a large office high-rise. Its head was raised, and its eyes locked on Hitsugaya's as it slowly, deliberately swallowed a plus. Tightening his grip on his zanpakuto, the Shinigami moved in one sudden burst, severing the two limbs keeping it from crashing to the ground._

 _The creature's remaining arms splayed out in panic as it fell, and he took the opportunity to dart in at its mask._

 _It spat some green substance at him; he twisted out of the way, but a chunk of it caught his sleeve and dissolved the fabric with an unpleasant bubbling sound. Reappearing on an adjacent roof, Hitsugaya sliced away the damaged material, then leapt out of the way as the Hollow swung one thick arm at him. It missed him, but scraped a deep furrow in the building below._

 _Suddenly there was a flash of light, the Hollow screeched in surprise, and its mask crumbled away along with its body. A Shinigami was standing behind it, sword out but tilted down in deference to the Captain's presence. He became aware of a dozen new Shinigami in the area, all from his Division._

" _Form a perimeter around that building!" he commanded, pointing his zanpakuto at the train station. "Two blocks out."_

 _His subordinate saluted and disappeared to carry his order to the rest of the soldiers._

The Corp is taking its sweet time, _he thought, turning and scanning his section for his next foe._

 _It took them ten more minutes to arrive - ten minutes in which eight more Hollows appeared that his men purified. When the newcomers stepped out of the Senkaimon, Hitsugaya flash stepped over to them and briefed them on the situation; their ranking officer then relayed her orders and her men spread out, prepared to begin creating a barrier._

 _Hitsugaya looked over the Kido Corp commander once, seeing that she looked, physically, unprepared for battle. Then again,_ he _of all people knew better than to judge based on appearance alone. The commander flashed him a grin, incongruous in their current predicament. "Go," she said, "lead your men. You do your job and we'll do ours."_

 _The Captain gave her a nod, not returning the smile, and returned to his place, only to leave it a moment later, sensing the surprised spike in reiatsu from his Fourth Seat. He came upon the scene to find a large Hollow, bulky with muscle and taut skin, rolling back onto its feet. One visual scan later showed the Fourth Seat also getting to his feet, using his zanpakuto as a crutch to pry himself out of the crumpled metal roof of a large car. He shook his head to clear it, looked sharply to the side, then flashed up next to Hitsugaya._

" _That kid-" he said, voice strained, "something's wrong with his reiatsu."_

 _Hitsugaya shot him a glance. "Talk to me after."_

 _Together it took all of five seconds to dispatch the Hollow, and by then the Kido Corps had erected a barrier strong enough to contain the pressures of a hundred-fold wizards. Hitsugaya spoke to their commander briefly, found that this was only temporary, and that the Wizards themselves would have to create new wards._

" _They did not notice their old ones falling," Hitsugaya informed her. "Will they know to put new ones up?"_

 _The commander shrugged. "They will eventually. No doubt their alarms have been set off by all the Hollows." She looked over at him, a wry grin planted firmly on her face. "And us. You going to order a mass memory-modifier?"_

 _The Tenth Division Captain nearly groaned at that. He had not thought, in the melee, about all the mortals that would see the Shinigami. "I will have to," he replied gloomily. The Kido Corps commander chuckled._

" _Some are just too curious for their own good." She glared down at the street below. Hitsugaya followed her gaze, saw a flash of black and white, then heard a pop._

" _There goes one," he said._

" _Once your men leave, I only need to keep one person here to maintain the barrier."_

 _Hitsugaya snorted. "So in other words, 'go away'?"_

" _Pretty much," the commander smiled._

" _I am going to have one person stay here in case more Hollows show up - no doubt there's a few stragglers. There usually are." They saluted each other, then Hitsugaya left to go round up his men. Luckily, given the situation, there were few injuries, and only one - a long gash on his Fourteenth Seat's arm that was dripping blood - required him to briefly bind it while they waited for the Senkaimon to open._

 _Mindful of Matsumoto's recent admonition to not let his men think he was upset with them when he actually wasn't - despite his belief that they should be able to tell he wasn't angry, given his lack of lecturing - he turned to face them. "Good work. Your response time was fair."_

 _They nodded at his acknowledgement, and he turned away. That was all they were going to get. As far as he was concerned, they were all alive, reasonably unharmed, and their job had been completed. It was a successful mission._

 _His Fourth Seat fell into step beside him as they arrived in the Soul Society. "You were saying about a kid's reiatsu?" Hitsugaya prompted. Noya nodded, expression twisted into a scowl._

" _I've been thinking about it, but I have no idea what that was. There was one kid, but there were - well, two souls."_

" _In one body?" Hitsugaya perked up at this. He hadn't heard of this before._

 _Noya hesitated, seeming reluctant to give a definitive yes or no. "I think so," he finally settled on saying. "I don't know; I'd just got thrown into an automobile. My senses probably weren't working right."_

 _Hitsugaya huffed and promptly ignored the questioning look from his Fourth. Automobile. Sometimes he forgot that not everyone was as familiar with Material World terminology as he was. "Put it into your report anyway. If there's anything we're learning about the Wizards, it's that nothing they do is too strange."_

~oOo~

The train was getting away from him, so Hitsugaya flashed ahead of it, to a bend in the tracks. He was doing a sort of tag with the locomotive, moving ahead of it before letting it catch up, then moving again. It was easier than staying constantly with it, and it gave him time to take in his surroundings.

It reminded him of a game that was apparently played in the Living World, that Inoue had shown him. She had called it 'leapfrog', or something of that sort. He didn't see the appeal of doing something that required so much human contact, but she had informed him that it was fun. He would take her word for it, but it did accurately describe what he was currently doing.

Jumping ahead again, Hitsugaya shuddered. He'd just passed through something - a barrier, although it wasn't any kind of physical sort, more of a power-based warning line - and he realized that they must be getting close to wherever the train was going. He headed down to the scientist, skidding slightly on the slick metal roof. Once he had his balance, he trudged over to the man, the speed, rain, and wind making it difficult to move easily.

"Wrap it up!" he yelled, trying to make his voice heard over the noise of the rumbling engine. "It's going to stop soon!"

The scientist waved a hand, but didn't straighten his form from his hunkered position over the bright instrument before him. "Just a couple more minutes!"

"Get ready to move!"

Hitsugaya left the roof, returning to the only-slightly-more-comfortable sky. Flashing to a large spire of rock, he looked ahead to see an impressive castle nestled in amongst a towering range of mountains. From this distance, he could just make out the shape of its towers and walls, the glint of a large body of water, and an indistinct smudge of darker land. Some ways away from the castle was a town, its lights glittering in the rainy night.

The train's horn blared. Chunks of rock crumbled beneath his feet as he turned to see the lumbering caravan start to slow in order to stop at the station. Hitsugaya flashed back to the scientist.

"All right, time's up, let's go," he ordered, stalking towards the man. Walking was at least easier now, and the rain wasn't being pelted into his face with painful force.

The Twelfth Divisioner looked up to see his expression, and hurried to comply. He didn't stop complaining, though. "It's so close to analyzing what makes their reiatsu different, if I could have just five more minutes-"

"I'm sure you'll be able to analyze them when they're attacking us," Hitsugaya interrupted, getting annoyed. "But that's not going to happen, since we're leaving. Now."

He was beginning to understand why the Captain-Commander had suggested he go along with the representative from the Twelfth; it seemed the entire Division was stubborn, but as Captain he had the authority to drag the man back to Soul Society if necessary.

And it was looking like it might become necessary.

At last the man got his stuff packed up; well, except for the small device that he was using to test the air. Hitsugaya rolled his eyes, grabbed the back of the man's uniform, and flash stepped them both away. He ignored the resultant protests, punched the air with his zanpakuto, and opened a Senkaimon.

Regardless of whatever the Twelfth Division managed to find, they now knew where one base of the Wizards was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Welcome back! I hope you all enjoy this week's chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: All appropriate rights go to the owners of Bleach and Harry Potter.**

* * *

 _The_ morning started off poorly. Ron was still in a bad mood from the 'motivational' letter his brother Percy had sent him; Harry's hand was smarting from when he'd banged it against the bathroom counter when he was brushing his teeth that morning; and Hermione, for reasons unknown, was mutilating a single strawberry on her plate instead of eating.

"What'd that strawberry ever do to you?" Ron asked as he slid onto the bench. Harry sat on the other side of Hermione.

"Shut up, Ronald," Hermione said testily. Ron and Harry exchanged shrugs over her head and turned to their own meals in silence.

"Don't talk to me for a few minutes, okay?" she said suddenly.

"Wasn't going to," Harry responded, and immediately regretted it when his friend shot him a glare. "Sorry."

So it was with trepidation that they watched the owls arrive. Harry moved the milk jug out of the way of the delivery owl, fearing what Hermione would do to the poor bird if it knocked the drink over. Then she gasped and shoved her plate with the pink pulp out of the way and flattened the newspaper against the table. "Look at this!" she exclaimed, a finger tracing the headline: Ministry Seeks Educational Reform, Dolores Umbridge Appointed First-Ever "High Inquisitor".

Harry immediately remembered something he'd learned about in primary school, the 'Spanish Inquisition', and thought that 'High Inquisitor' was a pretty stupid name to give a political official. But then he read the rest of the article and the thought was pushed far out of his mind.

"They can't do that!" he said. "That's a terrible idea!"

"Well, they did it," Hermione said grimly. Whatever had been bothering her at the beginning of breakfast appeared to have been forgotten; now she was turning the force of her fury down on the newspaper. Harry saw a flash of a title saying something about a wild magical creature before Hermione shoved it into her bag.

But then Ron chuckled. The two turned to look at him, and saw an evil grin spreading across his face. "McGonagall's going to _humiliate_ her."

Harry had to laugh at this, and even as they went through their next several classes, the thought of the witch going head-to-head with the toad sustained him even through the miserable Potions class in which he got back his essay graded D.

But then they got to Divination, took their usual seats in the back, and waited for Trelawney to finish passing out the textbooks when the ladder leading out of the classroom creaked. The room went dead silent, everyone staring as a pink head emerged, followed by a squat body. Harry groaned, leaning back in the squashy chair.

"Great," he said in a low tone to Ron, who was rolling his eyes. "The toad and the quack in one room."

Ron snorted, burying his face in his arm to cover it as a cough.

The lesson was just as useless as usual, and Harry and Ron were in the middle of interpreting a 'dream' of Harry's (read: scribbling stuff down while eavesdropping on Umbridge interrogating Trelawney) when the toad asked if Trelawney had ever predicted anything that actually happened.

Harry's eyes met Ron's, and he knew they were both remembering her prediction that Peter Pettigrew would escape and rejoin Voldemort.

Trelawney gathered her shawls about her body as if to contain her indignation. "Of course I have," she replied primly. Umbridge made a sound and marked something down on her clipboard.

"Can you prove that?"

Trelawney sputtered, "Can I prove - I wo - I do not _record_ all of my predictions."

"So, you are telling me that you can't?" Umbridge clicked her tongue and wrote something with a flourish. By now the entire class had given up on pretending to work, and was blatantly watching the two witches. "Well, since I'm a fair judge-"

Ron exploded into a hacking fit, slumped over onto the table with his head buried in his arms, shoulders shaking. Harry reached over and thumped his back, using the motion to hide his grin in his shoulder. Umbridge cleared her throat, nose impossibly high in the air.

" _Hem hem_. As I was saying, I will give you the opportunity to show your _talent_. Could you, perhaps, make a prediction?"

By no means was Harry a supporter of Trelawney; even so, he winced as he watched the Professor straighten up, anger written in every line of her body. "The Inner Eye does not respond to demands," she declared righteously.

"A shame," Umbridge said, raising her clipboard. Trelawney flinched.

"Wait!" she cried, widening her eyes. "It does- You… It speaks to me - of you! It - It says you are in...terrible danger!"

Harry found himself wishing that the Professor had managed to come up with something more original than her usual doom-and-gloom pronouncement. As it was, Umbridge regarded Trelawney with an amused expression and wrote something down. "Very well," she said. "You will receive the results of your inspection in ten days' time."

She bustled away, snatching up her frilly handbag and making for the trapdoor when Trelawney, frozen in place, suddenly went stiff. "Beware," she said, in a tone of voice Harry had heard only once before - during third year. Umbridge turned at the sudden change. "There are dangers yet unknown in this world, but they are coming. They will find him, and they will destroy him, with all the power of the gods."

Harry gaped at the Divinations Professor, along with every other person in the room. 'They?' 'Him?' 'Power of the gods?' Had she gone mad?

Ron reached out and slapped his shoulder a few times. Harry pushed his hand away. " _What?_ " he hissed, but Ron was staring at Umbridge, who'd gone an ugly shade of red.

Trelawney seemed to snap out of her trance. "I'm sorry, did you ask me something?" she said in confusion, looking around the room at the confused, astonished faces turned toward her.

Umbridge pushed back her shoulders, gaining about an inch in height. "Ten days," she said, and marched out the room.

Needless to say, the rest of that period was _not_ spent on their dream journals.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat in a row during Defense Against the Dark Arts, pretending to take notes on the assigned reading, but really talking about what had just happened. Harry and Ron were of the opinion that she'd actually made a prediction; Hermione was more skeptical.

Their scribbled conversation came to a screeching halt when Umbridge decided to patrol the aisles. Harry shoved the parchment under his textbook, and the period was passed in silence, each of the trio lost in their own thoughts.

~oOo~

"And anyway," Hermione continued, neatly dodging a pothole in the road, "Professor Grubbly-Plank said she's been having a hard time getting some animals from the Forbidden Forest to show us during class - she thinks they're going into hibernation or something early; but it's not winter yet."

"Cold enough for it," Ron muttered, tightening the scarf around his neck. Even though the day was sunny and the sky was a clear blue, not a cloud for miles, a cold wind had them hurrying to get down to Hogsmeade.

Harry said nothing. It was their first Hogsmeade weekend, and the upcoming meeting was tying his stomach in knots. He wished he had planned out what he was going to say; he was terrible at speaking in front of large crowds. They'd had to give presentations a few times in class, especially in Charms, and he always felt jumpy beforehand and shaky after.

It'd been two weeks since Hermione had first pitched him the idea of leading a defense class - or club. Maybe if he thought of it like a club he'd be less nervous. Those two weeks had been fairly awful, with detention from the toad, horrible amounts of homework, and more creature attacks. Apparently the wards had failed at King's Cross, taken down by the magical creature Ginny had seen. They hadn't caught it yet, but it had probably left, since nothing else had been spotted.

Harry was beginning to dislike the way Wizards arranged their newspapers. The article about the rogue creature had been squished to one edge of the page, and the only reason he had seen it at all was because Ron had been complaining about one of the Chasers on the Chudley Cannons quitting after his wife died suddenly.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the clang of the bell on the door of the Hog's Head pub. Taking a look around, Harry grimaced. As opposed to the Three Broomsticks, the Hog's Head was downright dirty, with smudged windows, smoke-darkened walls, and stale air. The floor, as he stepped inside, was soft; looking down, he realized that there was a thick layer of dirt and what looked to his city-boy eyes like hay.

It was, however, a likely place to get a dragon's egg, something that Harry had always questioned about Hagrid's story. There were only a few patrons scattered about the place: a man in grungy bandages, downing some smoky drink; two dementor-like figures speaking in Yorkshire accents; and a witch with a thick black veil covering her face. The lighting wasn't very good in the place; as Hermione stepped towards the bar, the flickering candles cast uneven shadows, so that Harry was convinced for a moment that someone was sitting at the table in the corner.

But he looked again as they moved to a table as far from the other customers as possible, and saw nothing. He sat stiffly in the hard wooden chair and took a swig out of his butterbeer, and it wasn't long before people started to pour in, startling the other patrons; the two dementors with the Yorkshire accents got up and left, and the man drinking the smoky liquid turned his bandaged face in their direction.

The meeting seemed to take hours, though his watch said it was only about half of one. Harry was very glad to be out of the pub, the air and sun seeming much brighter than before. He tuned out Hermione and Ron as they talked about Ginny's dating life - something he felt _extremely_ out of place taking part in a discussion about - but his head whipped around when he heard Cho's name.

"What?" he asked, then felt his face burn at his reaction. Hermione laughed and pushed Ron.

"See? I _told_ you that would get his attention!"

Harry's face was now on fire. He turned into the wind to give himself an excuse. "Shut up," he muttered into his scarf. His 'friends' laughed behind him, and then he felt a tug on his sleeve, and was pulled into a shop. His protests faded when he saw - squinting - that they'd led him into a eyeware shop.

His stomach gave an uneasy flop.

"You need new glasses," Hermione said matter of factly, bending over a display case. "And we have some time before we need to go back to school, so why not get them now?"

"Nah, it's fine," he said, but didn't leave. It _was_ true that he needed new glasses; it was very annoying, especially in Potions, to have to keep asking Ron or Hermione what the next line on the board was.

"Nonsense. You're getting glasses." Hermione pushed him towards the shopkeeper, who was watching them with interest.

"Do you know your prescription?" the woman asked with a friendly smile. Harry froze.

"Uh, no…"

He hadn't even known he _needed_ one; the only type of prescription he'd heard of was for medicine, like when his Aunt Petunia sometimes stopped to fill hers at the pharmacy.

The shopkeeper was unperturbed. "That's all right," she chirped, gesturing for him to sit down on a stool. He looked back to see Hermione pointing to one style with Ron looking bored beside her. "Just hold still for a moment," the woman instructed, and waved her wand in front of his face. She studied the parchment that protruded from the tip, then made a vague gesture with her hand. "Here's all the types of glasses we have, but you want I can custom-make something for you. It will take some time to create, however."

Harry gave her a nervous nod, then went up to Hermione. "Any suggestions?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Well, I like this one," she said, indicating one with a red and gold frame, "but Ron says it's tacky."

Harry winced and looked back at the shopkeeper, but she was bending over something on the counter, and didn't appear to be paying attention to them.

"How about something like my old ones?" he suggested. "Just plain black."

"Well, if you're sure," Hermione shrugged, and moved off to search the rest of the store. Ron sidled up to Harry. He jerked his head at the shopkeeper.

"She's hot," he muttered.

" _Ron!_ " Harry smacked the back of his friend's head.

"What?" he asked, moving away. "You don't think so?"

Thankfully Hermione had found a frame that looked suitably close to his old ones, along with a black leather case that snapped shut. Harry tried them on. "Well?"

"You finally look normal again," Hermione laughed.

"Did you find a frame you like?" the shopkeeper called out suddenly. Harry turned, and gave her the frame. She took it, set it down on the counter, and asked, "Now, we offer a wide selection of charms that can go along with the glasses. Each one adds an additional cost, depending on the charm. Would you like to see what we have?"

"We would," Hermione said. Harry laughed but nodded at the woman.

"Let him talk, 'Mione," Ron told her. He had put on a pair of bright pink glasses that had little moving bits on the edges. "Hey Harry, I think you should get this one."

"I think Luna would like it," Harry said, then turned back to the counter, on which the shopkeeper had laid a book detailing all of the charms available. She pointed out the most popular ones, then turned and started working on something else, giving them a little privacy. With Hermione's help, Harry chose shatter-resistant, scratch-resistant, weather-repelling (for Quidditch), and a charm that would automatically return it to the case if he took it off. "Sucks if I lose the case," he joked, watching the shopkeeper put the glass into the frame, then add the charms.

Taking them back, Harry put them on. "Whoa," he said, and looked around. "Everything's so clear now!"

He hadn't realized just how bad his eyesight was; even his old glasses weren't this good! He could see every little detail now, and the edges of things were so much sharper. There was a bird outside, feathers fluffed up to preserve its body heat, and he could tell what color it was, something he hadn't been able to do before.

Harry took them off and rubbed his eyes. Everything seemed so much duller now.

The shopkeeper was smiling. "Good?"

"They're amazing! How much do I owe you?"

He walked out of the store a few minutes later, twelve Galleons poorer, but he felt like he'd just won the lottery. Everything seemed so much more in focus now, and he could see all the way down the street, to the group of third years clustered around a fountain, splashing water on each other. He could even make out the disgruntled expression of a small, white-haired boy as he darted between shops.

"Hermione, seriously, thank you for dragging me in there. This is…" He trailed off, unable to come up with words adequate enough to express what he was feeling. "I can't, this is just…"

"Don't start crying on us now," Ron said, and Hermione smacked him. She turned and beamed at Harry.

For the first time that year, Harry felt like things were finally going his way. They were starting up an actual Defense class, he'd done most of his homework for the week, and he could _see_.

Things were finally looking up.

~oOo~

If asked, Hitsugaya would not say that he was a particularly paranoid person. Certainly more cautious than some others, but to label him as _paranoid_ would be stretching the truth.

There were, of course, those that would say otherwise - mainly Matsumoto.

In any case, his _caution_ was coming in handy these days.

The Wizards were essentially an unknown society. They could be more powerful than the Shinigami or weaker, more advanced or less. As such, any mission dealing with them was treated with due prudence and given to the higher Seats, with Hitsugaya himself leading many of expeditions. It was normally unusual for a Captain to spend so much time in the World of the Living, but Matsumoto was currently investigating a recent influx of souls in the southeast of the UK, their Third Seat was stuck with most of the paperwork and daily business of the Division, and the Fourth Seat was working alongside Hitsugaya in Scotland. The rest of their officers - up to the Tenth Seat - either ran intelligence missions in places with a confirmed low number of wizards, stayed in Soul Society gathering and organizing what data had been obtained so far, or studied the Wizarding Society in-depth.

For the Shinigami were relentless in their task, and they had discovered much about the Wizards thus far.

They'd learned about the war, of the dark wizard 'Voldemort' - a name which Hitsugaya and many of his officers found quite ridiculous, considering no being could escape death - and compiled what they could on the Wizarding World's history. It had taken them over a month to gather enough information to gain an accurate idea of what was going on and who was most likely to have committed the Forbidden Arts, considering the secrecy of the Wizards. But they had done it, and they knew who they were going after.

Voldemort. The self-styled 'Dark Lord' himself.

The Tenth Division had established several facts about this new world they were entering into: the Wizards could see them in their soul forms, an annoying but essential fact; the Wizards used 'magic' - really a weakened version of reiatsu; and, most importantly, _nothing_ the Wizards did was logical.

All of this combined to make interacting and studying the Wizards more frustrating: only high-ranked officers could make direct contact; only those Shinigami with the ability and patience to needle answers out of unsuspecting informants were suited to the task. And Hitsugaya would only let his own Division do this, for his people were specially trained in these sorts of things, and Soifon was being irritatingly stringent with her own men. She argued that she had other things to do that took up their time, and if his men couldn't handle this, he should just turn over everything he had and let her lead the operation.

This was not an option to Hitsugaya or his Division, to whom he had casually mentioned this as an option - albeit a last-resort one - when some of the officers had been flagging.

"Those prissy ninjas can shove a stick right up their ass!" his Ninth Seat had cried upon hearing the news.

That pretty much summed up their opinion on admitting defeat. Their pride as a Division wouldn't let them give this up.

In any case, the work had turned into a slog, and Hitsugaya, currently mapping out the land surrounding Hogwarts - the school that teaches little wizards how to control their 'magic' - was glad of the call from his Fourth Seat warning him of the mass exodus from the castle, heading down to the village not far away, and that he had some information to give to the Captain.

Hitsugaya slipped the mapping device loaned to the Tenth Division from the Twelfth - gained through a bargain that the Tenth would provide them with samples of Wizarding magic, something that Hitsugaya was going to do anyway, but he happily played the part of being annoyed with the extra work - and headed towards the magical village called 'Hogsmeade'.

As his sword was concealed through a handy piece of Kido, Hitsugaya found it no problem to slip through the village, the occupants of which naturally assumed he was one of the visiting children from the school. He entered his Fourth's assigned meeting-place, a dark, grimy bar that smelled strongly of wet animal.

He followed a group of teenagers into the place, pretending to be part of them, and he doubted the patrons of the place noticed him. Noya Sanzo was sitting in one dark corner of the room, partially hidden behind a pillar, and waved the Captain over. Hitsugaya's hair and haori were not the best color to blend into a dark area, so he pulled up the hood of a dark jacket he'd bought.

"Hey Captain," Noya said as Hitsugaya sat down next to him, facing the rest of the room. "Would you like a drink?"

Hitsugaya eyed the mug on the table and sniffed it, smelling something sweet. "What is it?" he asked. The Fourth Seat shrugged.

"Not sure what's in it, but the-" He broke off, rolled his eyes, and continued. "The kids coming in called it 'Butterbeer'. I figured I'd give it a try. Make it seem like I'm not doing anything suspicious."

"Everyone in here is doing something suspicious," Hitsugaya responded, eyeing the large group of teens holding a meeting on the other side of the room, and the other patrons obviously listening in. He returned his attention to the drink and took a small sip, nearly gagging at the cloyingly-sweet taste. It did not have the distinctive burn of alcohol, but he almost wished there was. _Anything_ to mask that taste.

"Oh- Mm. I regret that decision," he said, strangled, and set it back down, pushing it roughly back over to Noya. "What'd they do, put a whole stick of butter in that thing?"

"Probably two or three," the officer replied, and lifted the mug. "Cheers." He downed a large gulp, the Captain watching in amazement and disgust.

"You _like_ that concoction?"

"Well, 'like' is relative. I paid good money for this."

"About that. Where'd you get the money?"

"Some woman dropped some coins and I didn't feel the need to give them back," Noya shrugged. "Besides, it would have required her seeing me, and I was tailing her at the time."

"Let me see them."

As the Captain examined the coins, the teens' meeting continued. A man sitting near the fireplace finished off his drink and pounded the table for another. While the room's attention was focused on the probably-not-really-allowed meeting, Hitsugaya finally asked why his Fourth Seat had asked to meet him here. At this the officer's easy-going grin faded into a more professional scowl.

"The Twelfth Division finished their long-range scanners, and they discovered that the wards around that train station were deliberately taken down."

"By who?"

"They weren't sure, but judging by what the - these people are dealing with, I'd say it'd have to be the Death Eaters." Noya's scowl darkened. "Their names are terrible."

Hitsugaya leaned back in his chair, gazing across the room at the girl who was currently speaking. She had thick brown hair, and wore a gold-and-red scarf around her neck. "Well, that is good to know. Irritating, since it makes our job harder, but useful information nonetheless. But why did you ask to meet here?"

Beside him, Noya raised his arm, and disguised the gesture as a grab for the drink. "See the boy with the dark hair, the one sitting next to the kid with red hair?"

Hitsugaya followed the rather vague instructions. "The one scratching his nose?"

"That's it. He's the one I felt at the train station, with the two souls."

Now that Hitsugaya knew what to look for, he extended his senses and immediately felt what had caught his Fourth's attention: the boy had an unusual dual-type reiatsu, with the dominant being lighter and nearly enveloping the second. It wasn't like anything he'd ever felt before; a person only had one soul. That was a fact. For one body to be carrying two… It had to be someone else's soul. But why the boy would allow someone to insert a soul into his body was beyond the Captain. And why would the other person split his soul? And how?

"This just became more complicated," Hitsugaya said. He ran a hand down his face and left it under his chin. "All right. First thing's first, we need to figure out who that kid is."

"Potter Harry," Noya said immediately. Hitsugaya looked over at him.

"You sound confident."

"I heard them talking to each other before the others came in," the Fourth responded. "He's the one that almost killed this Voldemort character."

The meeting was ending; students were finishing their drinks and exiting, leaving the bar much quieter than before. Soon only the three leaders were left, but only a few moments later they too walked out, leaving the adult patrons in peace.

"He did nothing," Hitsugaya said dryly. "He would have been about a year old when Voldemort disappeared. He couldn't have done anything as a baby."

"Everyone seems to think he did something. One of the newspapers mentioned him surviving a killing curse."

"I read that. It still means nothing. He was just a baby. There must have been outside circumstances."

Hitsugaya refused to believe a _baby_ could have done anything special to deserve all of this fame, even if most of it seemed to be negative. Some people were just born more powerful, yes, but even those people had to train their skills in order to do anything useful with them. Hitsugaya himself was an example: Hyourinmaru had started calling him back when he lived with his grandmother, but he'd only learned the name of the dragon after training. Before that, it was just a wild, uncontrollable danger to everyone around him. And besides, he doubted any baby was aware enough at that age to understand that it _was_ in danger.

A flash of motion brought him out of his thoughts. The bartender had come out from the back room, and had started to clean the glasses left by the pack of students.

Suddenly Hitsugaya felt the urge to leave the place; it was irrational, but there was just something that told him to get out. He fought the urge, his hands tightening in the folds of his uniform. He was a Captain. He didn't give in to sudden urges.

Noya Sanzo looked into his mug of Butterbeer and sighed. "I feel old," he said. Hitsugaya shot him a glance. The Fourth Seat was by no means an old man - he was just entering middle-age, if anything. But the man wasn't done yet. "The Academy students are graduating tomorrow," he continued, rocking the drink like one would an expensive wine. "I barely even remember my graduation. I think I stayed up late the night before."

Hitsugaya lowered his hands to grip the edge of his chair. The wood was smooth to the touch, worn by years of people sitting on it and sanding down the edges.

"I remember I had all these dreams about what I would do, what Division I would get into. I had a friend who wanted to go into the Fourth; she was so scared she wouldn't make it." Noya chuckled low, still swirling his drink. The lines on his face were more pronounced, and his eyes were distant. "I was such an idiot. I told her that of course she would get in, the Fourth takes anyone. She got mad. And I mean _mad_. Her eyes - I could see the fire in them. She said that I would fit right in in the Eleventh. She said that's where all the idiot brutes go."

Noya's voice trailed off. He was staring into his drink, expression pensive.

There was a notch in the wood, two finger-lengths from the edge. Hitsugaya traced it with his thumb, watching the man in silence. He may be far from the best conversationalist in the world, but he'd always been a good listener. Even if he wasn't sure why someone was talking to him.

Whatever answers Noya had been looking for in the dregs of the sweet drink, he didn't find them. Setting the empty mug down on the table with a soft thump, the man flexed his hands. "Ah, I'm rambling," he said, trying for a grin and failing. "I don't even know why I'm saying this. I know you dislike useless conversation."

"It is not useless."

Noya nodded, but but his expression very clearly conveyed that he wasn't convinced. He wouldn't meet Hitsugaya's eyes as he straightened up. "I can take your patrol when you need to leave to meet the new recruits," he offered. Hitsugaya watched him for a few seconds, considering. Then he looked away.

"I have a device from the Twelfth that maps the land and any strong spots of reiatsu. I was going to finish up here today and take tomorrow to prepare." He stood up, sensing that the time had come to leave. "Head back home. Take the rest of the day off."

Noya followed him to his feet, looking faintly surprised. "I'm fine, sir," he protested in a low voice so as to not carry, but got to the door first and held it open for his superior, ignoring the look that followed. Noya shivered at the sudden transition from stuffy interior to cold exterior. Hitsugaya breathed in the refreshing air.

"Go home," he said. "Just don't drink when you do."

Noya looked astonished. He opened his mouth to complain, but Hitsugaya beat him to it.

"Consider that an order if you must. I recommend you stay away from alcohol tonight."

After a long moment, Noya nodded slowly. "Thank you, Captain," he whispered.

~oOo~

Harry couldn't stop yawning.

He sat up on the edge of his bed and yawned, feeling his jaw pop a little. "Ow," he said, more to say something rather than an actual expression of pain. Then he got up and blearily fumbled his way over to the bathroom, stripping and climbing into the shower. His intent was for the cold water to wake up a little, but his plan backfired when he yawned and got soap in his mouth.

"Never again," Harry muttered, finding his way back to bed and collapsing onto it. He had to get up soon, but...his trunk was so far away, and he'd have to get up to get dressed. His eyes were heavy…. He could just lay here until…

He was jolted out of the half-daze by Ron shaking his shoulder. "Hey, get up," the redhead said, grinning. "You want breakfast, don't you?"

"Ugh," Harry groaned, flapping a hand behind him. "Go away."

His friend disappeared, and Harry forced himself to get up, pull on some clothes, grab his wand and glasses, and stumble down the stairs. Hermione and Ron were sitting by the fire, talking, so he made his way across the room to lean on the back of Hermione's chair.

"We go'f breakfast?" he mumbled, yawning. Hermione tilted her head back to give him a smug look.

"Tired are we?"

"No."

Harry wouldn't let her have the satisfaction of knowing that she was right in telling him to go to bed earlier. But he'd had homework to do, and staying up as late as he needed to get it done had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Even if he'd had to stay up to four in the morning.

He didn't think it was such a good idea anymore.

The morning passed in a daze: he was half asleep on his feet, and Ron and Hermione had to keep nudging him in the right direction. He almost fell down the fake step, tried to pour pumpkin juice on his cereal, and used Hermione's newspaper as a napkin. He was doomed for History of Magic; Ron stopped poking him several minutes in while Hermione rolled her eyes, muttered, and just generally acted put-upon, but she did promise to lend him her notes.

In fact, he only woke up half an hour after the start when the door opened and the voice of Professor McGonagall rang through the room, snapping several students out of their stupor. "Professor Binns, could I borrow Ms. Brown?"

The ghost waved her off, and Lavender Brown gathered her things and left, looking confused. She didn't return the rest of that class, nor for lunch, during which her friends commandeered a section of the table and sat talking about where she was. None of them appeared to know what was going on, and Harry really didn't pay much attention to them, other than feeling slight irritation that the group was sitting in his usual spot.

In fact, the next time anyone saw Lavender was in their next Potions lesson, her eyes downcast and actions listless. The class, joint as it was with the Slytherins, was surprisingly quiet and uneventful, everyone feeling the mood coming off in waves from the girl. Even Snape was less aggravating than usual, keeping his comments relatively to himself. But as the class progressed, her friends continually tried getting her to talk, causing her to get more and more tense.

Eventually her temper exploded, after she aggressively shook too much powdered goat horn into her brewing potion, causing it to bubble and froth ominously. She gave a wordless shout and shoved at her cauldron, tipping the heavy pewter over the edge of her desk. Instantly every eye was on her, except the students at the table in front of her who lunged out of the way of the boiling liquid.

Snape crossed the room in seconds, waving his wand to vanish the spilled potion and lift the cauldron back onto the lab table. "Detention, Ms. Brown!" he snapped, voice sharp and unyielding. "For endangering the students of this class."

The girl glared at the teacher, shoved her wand into her back pocket, and swept a textbook into her bag. "Screw. You," she said, very clearly. Harry flinched back, half convinced they were about to see the girl murdered. The class stared at her, gaping.

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Get out," he growled. Lavender snarled in an unexpected display.

"My aunt died; I don't give a damn about you or your class."

One of her friends gave a small squeak, raising her hands to cover her mouth.

"Leave. Now."

Lavender stalked down the aisle, the students nearest her shrinking away, and slammed the door shut behind her. Silence reigned over the class, who stared at the door then at Snape, who was clenching and unclenching his hands. He whirled around and marched back to his desk. "Back to work!"

The class continued, but none of their potions were made correctly, even Hermione's, due to distraction and the disruption of timing Lavender's outburst had caused. They all received zeros for the day and were kicked out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang, chattering animatedly.

"What was that about?" Ron asked Hermione, who shrugged helplessly.

By dinnertime that day, the whole school had heard about the incident and was still talking about it during the meal, including the trio.

"Did she say her aunt is dead?" Ron questioned, stirring his mashed potatoes with his fork, for once not shoveling food in as fast as humanly possible.

"I think so," Hermione answered. She was staring down at the peas on her plate as if they held the key to unlocking the universe.

"Guess they were close."

"Wonder if… Do you think her aunt's death is connected to what's happening in the east?" Then she looked up at their uncomprehending faces. "Why am I even asking you two?" she sighed. "Nevermind. It's probably nothing."

Harry glanced at Ron. "What's happening in the east?"

"Oh, they think some magical creature's loose and killing a bunch of people, but-" Hermione shook her head in frustration. Her thick hair whipped around and smacked Harry across the nose. "I don't know."

"Magical creature like the one at the train station?" Harry suggested. Hermione stared at him.

"You know, you're right. That was _definitely_ an animal. Though I don't know why it would go for a wand-repair shop."

The three were silent for a long time, each picking at their food without really eating it. Finally Ron suggested, "Maybe it wasn't a magical creature at all. Maybe You-Know-Who sat on his wand and broke it."

Harry frowned down into his dinner. Hermione glared at their friend. "That wasn't funny, Ronald," she hissed. Ron threw up his hands.

"All right, all right. Just trying to lighten the mood. Forget I said anything, okay?"

~oOo~

There was large house in Wiltshire that seemed to attract all sorts of foul people. Hitsugaya hadn't gone in yet, but he had noticed many strange people coming and going. Strangely enough, some people came out that he hadn't noticed going in, so he figured there was something inside the place that allowed wizards to move from Point A to Point B without having to physically walk there.

The building was most likely warded to keep the non-magical folk out, as the closest one of _them_ got to the door was one man who went to lean up against the wall that ran around the place, cigarette in hand. He'd jolted back, looked around, then walked down the street with a confused expression.

Luckily the wards didn't affect Shinigami. Hitsugaya had tried going up to the building, and while he'd never gone inside, he hadn't had a problem getting close enough to touch the brick. It was a relief, he supposed, that the Wizards' wards couldn't keep out Shinigami. They were used to going where they wanted, without being hampered by the humans' flimsy protections, and to be barred from a place because of a simple mortal barrier was insulting.

Ever since the Twelfth had gotten their scanners working, the Soul Society had found pockets of Wizarding reiatsu scattered all across the world. They'd since refined their search to the UK, where the source of the Forbidden Arts seemed to be, and this property in particular had a dark presence. They were unsure if the person who'd committed the crime was inside, but there was _something_ in there that was alerting their senses.

Hitsugaya was currently examining the place, taking stock of what would be a good point of entrance, approximately how many people were inside, and getting used to the grounds. If they had to breach the place, he did not want to be going in blind.

Suddenly his soul phone went off. Letting out a soft curse, Hitsugaya fumbled in his pockets for it, then thumbed it open. "Captain Hitsugaya," he hissed, backing away from the house. He was in what appeared to be the gardens, surrounded by high hedges, and it would not do to be taken by surprise, if he got distracted by the call.

"Third Seat Akon," came the voice on the other side. Hitsugaya nodded slightly. That cleared up some of his confusion. "Captain, have you been in contact with your Fourth Seat recently?"

"No, I have not," Hitsugaya answered. He'd found a relatively secure place, and was crouched there. "He should be up by the castle. Why? Has something happened?"

There was silence for a moment. Then: "Yes, Captain. Our scanners recorded a disturbance several minutes ago, following which we are unable to locate your Fourth Seat."

Hitsugaya tensed. "He disappeared? Have you tried contacting him?"

"Of course." Akon's voice registered slight annoyance. "That was the first thing we tried. We have not been able to contact him at all or find him anywhere in the World of the Living. And there have been no records of Senkaimon use to Soul Society within that time."

"All right." Hitsugaya thought about this for a moment, running possible situations over in his head. "Okay, I'll head over there now. Keep me updated."

"Will do, Captain." A click, then silence. Hitsugaya closed his phone and tapped the cover with one finger. There could be several logical, non-alarming reasons why his Fourth Seat's reiatsu suddenly disappeared. But to not answer a call from the Twelfth…. He could be in a situation where he couldn't risk someone hearing him.

Slipping the phone into his pocket, Hitsugaya stood and drew his zanpakuto. The fastest way to get to the castle would be by Senkaimon, though he wouldn't go directly there. If Noya Sanzo _was_ trying to go unnoticed by someone in particular, arriving right in the middle of the situation was a good way of getting him noticed.

He jabbed the sword forward and twisted.

Nothing happened.

"What?" He tried again. Still nothing.

As a Captain, he should be able to open a Senkaimon whenever and wherever he needed to.

Hitsugaya paced forward a step and passed his hand through the air. Nothing was there to keep him from opening a portal. So why couldn't he…?

He turned and tried again in a different direction. Still, no gates appeared. Now getting worried, Hitsugaya jogged a few yards away and stabbed forward.

"Okay." He ran his free hand through the air. "Hyourinmaru, are you doing this?"

The dragon in his soul stirred, deep voice rumbling. " _This is not my doing."_

"Then what's going on?" Trying it again, Hitsugaya was relieved feel resistance against the blade as it opened up the gate. Still, he made no move to go through, eyeing the doors and Hell Butterfly suspiciously. After a few minutes of nothing happening, Hitsugaya hesitantly stepped forward, still not sheathing his sword. If the Senkaimon was unstable, he did not want to be going in unarmed.

But nothing unusual happened during the whole trip, and he arrived on the other side with no problem. Still, he faced the gate until it closed, leaving nothing but dark sky behind, and only then allowed himself to relax. He wanted to tell himself to forget it, that he was just tired and having a bad day, but an uneasy feeling had settled in his stomach and wouldn't let go.

Turning, he surveyed the castle below. Everything seemed normal, though like Akon had said, he couldn't sense Fourth Seat Noya anywhere. Frowning, he flash stepped lower and closer, hoping the wards were throwing off his senses.

He had just enough time to hear a loud, sharp screech before something barreled into him from behind, knocking him forward. Hitsugaya regained his balance and turned to see a large white shape struggling to right itself in the air. He backed away, hand raised in preparation to fire a Shakkaho, when the white shape leveled out and swooped down at him, screeching angrily. Sharp talons raked his face, uncomfortably close to his eye, so he batted it away with his left hand.

The owl - for that was what it was, not a Hollow, and therefore why he hadn't blasted it out of existence yet - described a large circle around him, clacking its beak at him before turning and zooming away. "Stupid bird," Hitsugaya muttered, raising one hand to prod at the scratches on his cheek. They were deep, and stung badly. And he doubted that the owl's claws were at all clean.

"Oh, what a great day this is turning out to be," the Captain grumbled, waving a hand over his face. He could at least clean the scratches so they didn't get infected. He also suspected the bird had stabbed him with its beak upon initial impact, as there was a specific spot on his back that was noticeably smarting.

" _Poor owl,"_ Hyourinmaru chuckled. Hitsugaya scowled, dropping his hand.

"Traitor."

The dragon snorted and curled up to go back to sleep.

Shaking his head, Hitsugaya started the search for his Fourth Seat. It was late in the night so there was no one on the grounds of the school, though he could feel the pressures of many beings in the forest and lake, none of which were human. But no Noya Sanzo. Hitsugaya searched for several hours, getting closer to the castle than he had dared go before, in the hopes that his subordinate had, for some inane reason, decided to go inside.

There was nothing. No sign of a battle, no lingering spirit particles, no dead bodies. Nothing. It was if the man had just vanished.

The thought that the Fourth Seat had just _gone_ , as in intentionally ran away, crossed the Captain's mind, but he fairly quickly dismissed it as a possibility. Hitsugaya knew the man well enough to know that he wouldn't leave his post without a very good reason. It was one of the reasons that Hitsugaya had enjoyed working with him during this particular assignment: he did his job well, without wandering off or getting distracted, and the Captain could count on him to be there. Which made his disappearance all the more puzzling and troubling.

Finally he had to admit that the man was nowhere near the castle when the sun started to rise. Hitsugaya flash stepped away, to an outcropping of rock, and pulled out his soul phone. He dialed, held it to his ear, and heard a sleepy voice answer: "Hey, Cap'ain. Whazzup?"

Well, it was very early in the morning, so he couldn't blame her too much for not being very alert yet. "Matsumoto, is Fourth Seat Noya Sanzo in the Division?"

Matsumoto groaned, and there was a prolonged shuffling sound. "Noya Sanzo?" she repeated, sounding slightly more awake. "Our Fourth? I thought he was down in the World of the Living with you."

"So did I. The Twelfth called me a few hours ago saying that he disappeared from their scanners. I just finished searching his assigned area and found no sign of him. Before I do anything else I want to make sure that he didn't come back to the Soul Society for some reason and didn't tell anyone."

"Um…" Matsumoto pulled the phone away to yawn. "Uh, okay, I'll ask around. Oh, Captain, while I have you, all those deaths in the east? Yeah, they just stopped. I don't know why, but we buried one round of souls, then everything went back to normal. It's weird but… I don't know. Maybe they just had a bad flu season or something?"

"Maybe." Hitsugaya scowled across the hills at the castle. The sun hadn't risen above the surrounding mountains yet, so the peaks were just dark chunks of rock backlit against a pale sky. "Let me know what you find out."

"Bye!"

Unfortunately, Noya was not in the Soul Society, and Hitsugaya ended up going to the Twelfth Division himself. Captain Kurotsuchi was - thankfully - busy experimenting with the Wizarding things sent to him, so he talked to Akon instead. The Third Seat was in what appeared to be the communications room, with at least a dozen computer screens casting an unnatural glow about the room. There were several people in there - including one boy sitting on the ground, for some reason - but Akon was easy to see, as he stood up as soon as Hitsugaya walked in.

"Captain Hitsugaya," the officer said, giving said Captain a small bow. "I take it you did not find your man?"

"No," Hitsugaya replied, glancing around. He could see what looked like a world map on one of the monitors mounted on the wall, with little dots of black, red, and green scattered across the continents. On the lower computers stationed on the workbench, there were lists and running diagnostics and windows popping up so fast he couldn't tell what half the stuff was. "The disturbance you mentioned - what was it?"

Akon turned away, going back to the computer he had been sitting at before. His hands flew over the keyboard, and within moments he had a video loaded and was waving the Captain over. Moving closer, Hitsugaya saw that the video was a recording of the map of Scotland, with the Hogwarts castle and Hogsmeade village indicated. As he watched, the dot that was his subordinate blinked several times and disappeared. The video ended there.

"What could have caused that?" Hitsugaya asked. "I've been there myself, and while the wards take some getting used to, they do not cause any harm."

"It must have been the-" Akon cut himself off, jaw tense. "-the _inhabitants_ of the area. We did not record any Hollows present in the area that would have killed him."

That was the trouble with being a Shinigami, Hitsugaya reflected. No bodies left behind.

"Hn." He said. "Have there been any troubles with the Senkaimon recently?"

"The Senkaimon?" Akon asked, taken aback at this abrupt change of topic. "No. Why?"

Hitsugaya debated internally for a moment. "After you called me, I opened a gate to get to the castle. It would not open after several tries. Eventually it did work, and I found nothing off going through, but I have never had any trouble opening a gate before this."

Akon stared at him for a long moment. Then he turned his chair around and started typing. A menu expanded, and he clicked rapidly through it until he came to a long graph-like screen constantly expanding. There were several lines on it, intersecting or parting at different intervals. The whole thing meant nothing to Hitsugaya, but Akon scrolled back and studied the graph as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Eventually he sat back.

"Everything seems fine, but I can keep an eye on it."

Hitsugaya scowled. If there was nothing wrong with the Senkaimon, then that meant there was something wrong with the individual who had tried to open it. _Him_.

"If you would," he said, turning away. "Thank you for your time."

The walk back to his Division was done in silence. The idea that there could be something wrong with him or his zanpakuto was worrying. He was a Captain - he _couldn't_ be at anything but a hundred percent, especially with everything that was going on now. If something was wrong….

" _There is nothing wrong with you,"_ Hyourinmaru suddenly rumbled. Hitsugaya, having just entered his Division, paused.

" _You are sure? How can you tell?"_

" _I am your power,"_ the dragon answered, sliding through the air of his inner world. " _I am at full strength, and by extension so are you."_

That was a relief, and Hitsugaya was more than willing to trust his zanpakuto on this matter. But it still didn't explain why he hadn't been able to open a Senkaimon. He'd never had a problem opening one, after learning how. It was basically just unlocking a door using a zanpakuto. It was far from difficult - at least for him - and as far as he knew, no one else had had trouble.

Then the thought struck that he might not be able to open a Senkaimon when he really needed one - if he or someone else was injured, to retreat during a battle. His blood ran cold. That would be very, very bad. _Catastrophically_ bad, if the Shinigami lost the ability to travel freely between the World of the Living and the Soul Society. They would be stuck in either place, unable to purify Hollows or send plusses on, a situation which would eventually disrupt the balance of the entire universe.

No more children would be born in the Living World, no more souls would appear in the Soul Society - which meant no more Shinigami, which again led to the collapse of the universe.

A pulse of calming reiatsu drew him out of his thoughts and into his inner world. The ice dragon residing there was coiling around him, ice sliding over ice in a repetitive, soothing sound. "You are overthinking it," Hyourinmaru said, crimson eyes amused. "This is not going to lead to the end of the world."

"You saw my train of thoughts," Hitsugaya protested, sticking his hands into his sleeves. "This could be bad."

The dragon shook his head. "This is the first time this happened," he rumbled. "If the problem persists, _that_ is when it is time to worry. It could have just been a fluke accident. Get some rest. You are tired and worrying yourself needlessly."

"I rather think the end of the world as we know it is something to worry about," Hitsugaya grumbled, but he did feel better. Talking to Hyourinmaru usually had that effect. "You're right. Nothing's going to come of it."

"Good." The dragon dipped his head. "Now go back. Your Division is starting to worry."

"What?" Hitsugaya opened his eyes - _When had he closed them?_ \- to find several members of his Division grouped around him, staring and muttering. "Can I help you?" he asked sharply, startling several badly. A few hovering at the back of the crowd started to slink away.

"Um," one stuttered, pointing up. Hitsugaya followed his gesture to find a Hell Butterfly fluttering just above him, chiming repeatedly.

"Wonderful," he muttered, raising a hand and pretending that he _hadn't_ been standing in the middle of the courtyard panicking about the end of the world.

To his surprise, Captain-Commander Yamamoto's voice emanated from the Butterfly. "Captain Hitsugaya, report to the First Division." Its message finally delivered, the Butterfly disintegrated.

Hitsugaya took a deep breath, nodded once at the Shinigami still staring at him curiously, turned on his heel, and marched out. As soon as he passed out of sight of his Division, the dragon broke down in laughter. "That was your own fault," Hitsugaya muttered. His only response was a loud snort.

The First Division was just as quiet as usual - not being a militaristic Division, there was a distinct lack of noise from training and chatter - and so it was a rather peaceful walk up to Yamamoto's office. Upon arriving he was immediately let in, and strode across the large room to stand in front of the Captain-Commander's desk.

While the room was not to Hitsugaya's style, he could appreciate why the old man had chosen it. He imagined the large balcony was a good place to sit out on on cool days, and it _would_ be nice to have such a view of the Seireitei available. But other than that, the room was far too large and empty (of books) to really feel personal.

"Captain-Commander," Hitsugaya murmured, bowing. The old man looked up, setting aside the paper he had been working on.

"Captain Hitsugaya," Yamamoto rumbled. "Your report on the situation."

For a split second Hitsugaya wondered which situation the man wanted - the deaths in the east? the missing man? the Forbidden Arts? the dementors? - but then decided just to give an overall report. So he did, describing what had been done so far, what they were about to, and why they wanted to do it. When he was done he fell silent, waiting for the Commander's response.

After a while he started to wonder if the old Shinigami had fallen asleep - it was not an uncommon thing; the Captain-Commander _was_ a very old man, after all - and was trying to decide if it was more polite to wake him up or leave when the man stirred. "This cannot be allowed to continue," he said.

Uh...okay? What was Hitsugaya supposed to say to that? It wasn't as if he or his Division was slacking. He decided for a more diplomatic response. "No, sir."

Yamamoto made a rough sound in the back of his throat. "We cannot allow what was brought back with the Forbidden Arts to continue in its existence," he clarified. "It will disrupt the balance, if it hasn't already."

Hitsugaya refused to revisit his earlier thoughts. He settled for nodding.

"And that is why, after reviewing the case so far, it is clear that this 'Lord Voldemort' must be destroyed, completely."

Hitsugaya was nodding before his mind fully caught up. Then he froze. "His soul as well?"

"Yes. It is far too unstable to support a rebirth." The old man paused, straightening the papers on his desk. "The one who committed the act must also be brought to justice, but Voldemort is our primary target. When the time comes, I want you to do it. It will be good experience for you."

"Yes sir," Hitsugaya said, containing an excited squirm. He'd never completely destroyed a soul before. It was something only Captains could do, and only to souls beyond redemption. This was not done often, clearly, and he'd hoped to see it after the Winter War, but…. Yamamoto would likely have done it to Aizen, however the situation with the Hogyoku had negated that line of action. To have the Captain-Commander allowing him to do this...it was a great honor.

Not for the soul in question, of course, but getting handed this sentence meant that whatever they had done had warranted such an extreme course of action. This decision was not decided upon quickly, or lightly. Likely this had been in discussion ever since the act was committed.

"Good," Yamamoto said. He picked up a folder and held it out to Hitsugaya. "This is the current plan."

Hitsugaya read the report inside, marked with 'Eyes Only' and 'Confidential' watermarks. Clearly this was not a plan meant to be discussed outside of this office. As he read, his mood quickly dropped back down. This was….

'The current plan.' He hoped that meant it would be subject to change.

"When is it to be put into action?" he asked, turning the page to look at a detailed map of the castle grounds. Under that was a blueprint of the Ministry of Magic building, obtained by one of the Second Division members. Under _that_ was a photograph of a young boy in his teens. Hitsugaya recognized him as the Potter boy.

"Not immediately," Yamamoto replied, sitting back in his chair. Hitsugaya got the feeling the old man was studying him closely, his reactions and facial expressions, and the young Captain smoothed out his face to as impartial as he could make it. "It depends a large deal on you, and on how well you feel you can complete it."

Hitsugaya flipped quickly through the last few pages, partially in an attempt to stall, and partially in the hopes that there was a good part to the plan. He could do it, but he would not like it.

Drawing breath to speak, he was interrupted by the Captain-Commander. "Captain Hitsugaya, understand that short of openly going down and capturing Voldemort, this is the next best plan."

'Best plan.' The earlier ones must have been suicidal.

"Also note that, while we highly encourage you to take this, we will not force you to do it. A willing participant is placed above an unwilling one, despite their respective abilities."

Hitsugaya nodded, looking up from the folder to the old man. "I can do it," he said, well aware that he may be sealing his fate. "But this plan requires an exact situation. In the case that does not occur?"

"Then we make it occur," Yamamoto said. "So you will do it?"

Inside his inner world, Hyourinmaru rumbled. Hitsugaya paused to listen to him, then nodded. "I will."

Yamamoto's beard twitched. Hitsugaya couldn't be sure, but he thought the old man's shoulders relaxed a little. "That is good. You are the best candidate for this mission."

"Thank you, sir." Hitsugaya held up the folder. "May I look this over in more detail?"

"You may. It is confidential, aside from certain people in the First, Twelfth, and Second."

"My own Division is far more used to the Wizarding World than the other Divisions," Hitsugaya frowned, not seeing the logic in this. "They would be of use in this."

"The necessary people would be brought in once the plan is in motion." Yamamoto wound several strands of hair back into place in his beard. "Until then there is the risk that they may let something slip while they are in contact with the Wizards. It is simply safer," he added, seeing Hitsugaya tense at the slight to his men. "Unless something unforeseen occurs, if an opportunity arises then we will be relying on your judgement to begin."

"Yes sir." Hitsugaya tucked the folder into the large pockets on the inside of his haori, and bowed. "If that is all?"

"It is."

Hitsugaya turned and walked out of the large office, mind whirling with all of this new information. Inside, Yamamoto set down his ink brush with a sigh and looked out at the Seireitei below.


	4. Chapter 4

**Apologies for the long wait...but I hope this chapter was worth it.**

 **Disclaimer: All appropriate rights for Harry Potter and Bleach go to their respective owners.**

* * *

 _Gods_ of the sky, sea, and Underworld…. Harry paused and rubbed his eyes. Which was which again? He turned to the open textbook propped up on the windowsill beside him and flipped back a page. He made a face.

"Hey, Hermione?" he called, swiveling around to face his friend sitting at the table near the window. She was reading out of a thick tome on her lap, occasionally swishing her wand to keep two needles knitting one of her misshapen creations. "Do the Greek gods have constellations?"

She didn't even look up to answer. "Which ones?"

"Which ones?" Harry looked down at his textbook, then out the open window to the starry night sky. "Aren't there only three?"

"Only three- what..." Hermione groaned. "Harry, there's much more than three!"

"Well, _excuse_ me for never being taught Greek mythology!" Harry took his glasses off to rub his eyes again. When he resettled them, he said, "We went over it in primary, but my teacher hated myths and skipped as much as she could. Look, could you please just answer my question? I have Quidditch practice tomorrow, so I can't stay up late."

Hermione looked over at him, expression resigned. Harry put his hands together and mouthed 'please'. She sighed. "Oh, fine. My homework's in my bag." She pointed at it with her wand. "Just don't let it become a habit."

"Have I told you how much I love you?" Harry pulled out her homework, neatly slipped into a beat-up manila envelope.

"Yeah, yeah," Hermione grumbled good-naturedly. She went back to her knitting and reading, and Harry copied down his friend's work, making sure to change a few answers so it didn't look exactly the same. When he was done, he carefully put her paper back into the envelope, then patted the bag fondly.

"Harry?" Hermione suddenly asked as he was preparing to go up to bed.

"Yeah?"

"Could I borrow the…" She lowered her voice. "...the map?"

Harry's fingers fumbled with the straps of his bag. "Uh, what for?"

"To find a place to practice," she replied, the needles knitting the misshapen hat pausing. "You know, since our first one is only a couple days away."

Luckily there was no one close enough in the common room to hear their hushed conversation. Still, Harry shifted uneasily. "Well, yeah, sure," he said. "Do you want it now?"

"Or tomorrow. Whenever. I figure I'll go look for a place after class."

"Um, yeah, I'll bring it down with me at breakfast."

"Great!" Hermione smiled at him. "Thank you."

"Uh huh." Harry trudged up the stairs and was asleep in seconds.

The next day was cold and stormy. Harry and Ron stood side by side in the Quidditch changing rooms looking out at the weather. Neither of them actually wanted to practice in such conditions, although Ron was more nervous than anything else. This would be his first time playing with such lowered visibility. Harry, meanwhile, just wanted to get it over with.

Angelina appeared behind them. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she asked cheerfully. "Get out there!" She shoved them out the doorway. Ron's foot caught on the lip of the frame, sending him face-first into the mud. Harry saw him falling out of the corner of his eye; he got an impression of flailing limbs and wide eyes before he heard the _splat_.

"Oh, sorry Ron," Angelina said, sounding genuinely apologetic. She reached out and grabbed the back of his Keeper robes, tugging him back to his feet. The entire front side of his body was covered in mud. Some of it was even dripping from his nose.

"Ugh," Ron groaned, flicking his hands. Mud flew off and splattered everyone in the vicinity.

"Hey!" Fred protested, laughing. "What'cha trying to do, get _us_ dirty too?"

Angelina shot him a glare and slid out her wand, cleaning the younger Weasley off with a flourish. "I really am sorry, Ron."

"It's not my day," the redhead sighed, picked up his broom, and sloshed across the field. Harry shared a grin with the twins and followed.

The practice was, predictably, very miserable. No one could actually see what they were doing, nor where anyone else was. The Chasers floated aimlessly around the field, hoping to find someone with the Quaffle, while Ron had his hands above his eyes in a futile attempt to keep the rain from getting in them. The twins, for some reason, were doing their doing their very best not to get noticed by the team Captain, and were shifting about uncomfortably on their brooms.

"Boils," George muttered to Harry miserably when the Seeker passed by. Harry grimaced.

A large shape came flying out of the dark sky, nearly crashing into George. "Oh, sorry," Fred called. George just waved. "Hey, do'ya think we could end early if we fell off our brooms and broke something?"

Seeing George's thoughtful expression, Harry felt it was his duty as their teammate to point out the obvious. "Probably, but it's too dark too see you. Angelina wouldn't notice you were missing until practice ended anyway."

"Buzzkill," Fred told him.

Harry snorted and adjusted his grip on his broom. The practice was still likely going on - not that he cared much, at this point. "Nah, a buzzkill would have-"

For a moment, the world went still. Harry and the twins hung in the air, mere spectators in a vast, alien landscape as a brilliant flash of light lit up the clouds, thick and furious. The crash of accompanying thunder was absent, but in its place was a roar: fierce and unyielding.

 _Amused._

The sound kick-started the world back into motion, and the rain picked up again with unmatched fury. Large, thick drops flung themselves into Harry's face, sticking to his skin and leaving burning paths of ice.

Fred was yelling something to his brother, risking taking a hand off his broom to gesture to the ground. The three descended in jerking motions, the relentless wind snapping at their robes and hair. It was a relief when they found the ground, a relief that Harry had never felt before upon getting _out_ of the air.

Angelina had already made it to the locker room, and was bodily holding the door open for the rest of the team. "Good!" she shouted, the wind snatching away her words. "Didn't want to have to go searching for you in this!"

Inside, the Gryffindor Quidditch team looked far less like the proud lions they were supposed to be, and far more like drowned rats. Once everyone was inside, Angelina wrestled the door closed and turned to face the room, arms crossed. She opened her mouth to speak - but nothing came out. She opened and closed it several times, looking lost.

"What the _bloody hell_ was that?" Ron shouted into the relative silence. Even inside they could hear the storm furiously beating down.

"It sounded like a - like some kind'a animal?" Alicia Spinnet suggested.

"An animal? Yeah, did a _thestral_ get loose?"

"Not a _thestral_ ," Alicia defended, getting annoyed with George. "Maybe a...a thunderbird…."

"In _Scotland_?"

"Enough!" Angelina shouted over their argument and cutting through the rest of the chatter in the room. "Look, whatever - _that_ was, can we all agree we heard something?"

A general mutter of agreement. The team Captain nodded firmly.

"Good. Then I'll go tell Professor McGonagall about it."

"Well hold up!" Fred protested, holding one of his boots over the drain in the floor. Water was dribbling out of the footwear. "She might not let us practice anymore! And we need all the time we can get."

Ron swiveled around on his seat to yell something at his brother. Harry shoved him back around, not in the mood for Ron's self-doubt.

"Would you rather get eaten?" Katie asked testily. "I say we should tell."

"Yeah."

"Same here."

Fred still looked ready to argue, but Angelina held up a hand. "No, George-"

"Fred."

"Sorry. I'm going to tell McGonagall, _Fred_ , because I would really rather not have to go through house tryouts again when someone gets eaten. Besides, maybe you and your brother can take the time to finish whatever it is you're doing that makes you so reluctant to get on your broom."

The twins gained sheepish expressions, while the rest of the team - sans Harry - turned to give them confused looks.

"Anyway, get cleaned up. It's almost time for dinner, and I want everyone to go back to the castle together. This storm is way too easy to get lost in." Angelina cast a glare out the dark window, then stomped off to the girls' side of the locker room, followed by Alicia and Katie. The boys dressed in silence, not even bothering to dry off. They'd be soaked in seconds anyway, so why try? Harry cast a futile water-repelling charm on his cloak in the hope that it wouldn't get _too_ wet.

It did.

The team closed the door behind them, lingering for a moment in the hall dripping water onto the floor before dispersing. No doubt Filch would somehow sense the mess they were making and sic his cat on them. Ron trudged off in the direction of the Gryffindor tower while Harry caught up to Angelina, who was marching towards McGonagall's office. "I'll come with you," he said by way of explanation. Maybe he could get the professor to tell Dumbledore that he wanted to talk to him. He deserved some information, after all, after the summer of neglect.

Angelina acknowledged him with little more than a sideways glance and a grunt, and continued on without changing pace. She could really move when she wanted to.

The pair walked through the maze-like halls of the school in relative silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Harry wanted to ask what she thought the roar had been, creature or otherwise, but he wasn't able to find the right starting words in his own mind, and spent the walk staring off to the side. When they arrived at Professor McGonagall's office, Angelina raised her hand to knock, but Harry grabbed it. She cast him a confused look, but he just motioned for her to wait. Then he put his ear to the wood door.

She must have thought him utterly insane, but the door was cracked open very slightly, and Harry had heard the unmistakable sound of Professor Dumbledore's timbre.

Like any student would give up the chance to eavesdrop on his teachers.

Angelina rolled her eyes but followed suit, standing opposite Harry and also leaning in. Harry closed his eyes to concentrate, and soon could make out most of what was being said.

"...not to my knowledge," came McGonagall's voice. "Are you sure he said it was a Hogwarts student?"

"He appeared to be the correct age, if a little young," Dumbledore answered a moment later. "Aberforth wished to make sure he got back safely, given that he left with an unfamiliar man."

Harry pressed his ear further to the door. Who was Aberforth? Who was this student they were talking about?

"He must have been mistaken," McGonagall continued. "We have had no students matching that description for years. But I will ask the other teachers, to make sure. Perhaps they will remember something I have forgotten."

Her dry tone made it very clear that she thought that extremely unlikely, but a moment later Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, I know, you are right. But in these times, I cannot help but wonder…. Ah, it is likely nothing. The recent oddities have been making me far too suspicious of any abnormality these days."

McGonagall exhaled a combination scoff and snort. "Albus, you may be old and frankly paranoid at times, but your instincts are too often correct for you to ignore them."

"And I have no intention of ignoring them. It is simply that I find it difficult to lay such suspicion on the shoulders of one so young." There was a brief pause, followed by Dumbledore murmuring something far too soft for the two Gryffindors to make out. "In any case," the old Headmaster continued, "it is almost suppertime, and I believe both of us could use a warm meal in our bellies to chase away the ills of this storm."

Harry and Angelina hurriedly pulled away from the door, the Captain smoothing her robes with a disgruntled expression before knocking. His mind whirring, Harry only vaguely registered Angelina's conversation with the Professor, and McGonagall's terse reply that they would 'look into it'. In fact, it was only when the door firmly shut, leaving both soggy team members standing in the hallway, did he come back to himself.

"Well, I suggest we go back to the Tower to change before dinner," Angelina sighed, setting off once more. Harry nodded and followed, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes.

Halfway up one of the staircases, Harry's scar suddenly flashed with a burning pain. It felt as if his head were being split open by a white-hot fire poker, and Harry fell to his knees, clutching his head.

Images flashed through his mind, of a man wearing black robes, face streaked with blood and sweat and twisted in pain; of men in white masks with wands; of a pale-white hand and a dark snake. The pale hand raised a wand, pointed at the man. A harsh voice uttered a spell, and the man writhed on the floor, veins in his neck and arms bulging.

"Harry! _Harry!_ "

A flash of movement. Sudden sharp pain in his cheek. Harry blinked, looked around. He raised one hand to his face.

Angelina was kneeling in front of him, wide-eyed face very close to his own. His wandering eyes met hers, and saw the mix of confusion and worry in them. "Are you alright?" she asked, lowering her arm. Harry blinked at her, registered her words, and nodded.

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't _look_ fine." The team Captain looked him over, taking in his hunched posture, his shaking hands, his uneven breathing. "What was that? You looked like you were having a flash-" She cut herself off and looked away, lips pursed. "Anyway. Are you good?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

He really wasn't. Now his nightmares were happening during the day. And that was the worst one yet. The thought of what he'd seen, heard, _felt_ …. Harry wanted to run and run and run until he had no more energy left. He felt twitchy, and aware, as if every one of his senses were suddenly hopped-up on potions.

But he couldn't, because his Captain was staring at him with that concerned/pissed look she always seemed to have whenever someone messed up or got hurt. "Just a headache," he said, trying for a grin and failing miserably. "Remembered I have a Potions essay due tomorrow."

Angelina stared at him, obviously not buying it. But all she said was: "Sure. Don't stay up too late, okay?" And then she proceeded to walk him back to the common room, one hand hovering by his shoulder the whole way there. She only left him alone once he made his way over to Ron and Hermione, and even then she glanced over her shoulder at him more than once.

"What's up with that?" Ron asked, staring after the Chaser. "You try to kiss her or somethin'?"

"Ron!" Hermione slapped his shoulder. "Of course he didn't!" Then she paused and peered over at Harry, who'd collapsed onto the couch beside his friends. "You didn't, did you?"

Harry wasn't in the mood. "My scar hurt, and I saw-" He wasn't entirely ready to share what he had seen. Not yet. "Stuff. It really hurt. She saw. I think it freaked her out."

"Just a tad," Ron said sarcastically. "I've never seen her look like she thought you were mental before. Stupid, yeah, o'course, but not…"

Harry glared at the redhead. That one hit far too close to home. "I am not going crazy," he said firmly. Ron's eyebrows shot up and he raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Hey now, you know I didn't mean it like that-"

"Shut up, Ronald," Hermione interjected, cutting off what would likely be a very poor attempt at a pseudo-apology. "Are you alright, Harry? Do you need to go to the hospital wing?"

"I'm _fine_. Just stop fussing over me, okay?" Harry shoved himself off the couch and stalked towards the stairs. "I'll see you later."

~oOo~

There were a thousand bolts of lightning crawling up and down his body, seeping into his lungs and organs and burning him from the inside out. It was a pain he'd never thought possible before, and his body twisted and jerked in a futile attempt to escape the pain. But he couldn't get away, and he couldn't scream - there was no air in his lungs - and he wanted it to end, he just wanted it to end, make it _stop_ -

A sharp jolt, then the blessed release from pain. Noya Sanzo slumped back onto the cold tile and lay there panting, his breath coming harsh and ragged. His skin felt hot, like it was burning, yet the cold floor also hurt him, and the cloth of his uniform was rough against his body, and everything _hurt_ ….

The sound of footsteps approaching. They stopped inches away from his head; he could _sense_ the being, the abomination so close to him, could feel the wrongness of its presence. Noya's instincts screamed at him to grab his zanpakuto and slice through the awful creature, to end its pathetic existence, but-

His zanpakuto.

It was gone.

That thought hurt far more than anything the creature could ever do to him. The _thing_ had it, had taken such an integral part of his being away from him. Fury rose up in him, and the Shinigami pushed himself up from the floor to stand - weak though he was - in front of the creature that had done something so violating to a Shinigami.

 _It_ was the reason for his pain, for his humiliation. He couldn't even fight back or flee, for they had taken him by surprise and kept a constant watch over him, and for all that had happened, there was absolutely no way he was going to betray his people by displaying his powers to these outsiders. He was having to keep his reiatsu contained, for he'd learned early on that they could - not quite _sense_ spiritual powers in the way he was used to - but _feel_ that something was going on. And he had enough pride now to stare down the creature in front of him in its terrible eyes.

"Speak," the creature - not a man, not with its odious visage; not a human, with the merest scrap of soul clinging to its stolen vessel - hissed, without the emotion one would normally expect to find in this sort of situation. There was a sort of dark curiosity, yes, but no hatred, nothing like a normal mortal. "Who are you?"

Noya met its gaze with ease. This creature had nothing on the Captain in terms of intimidating stares. He had had the dubious honor of witnessing one explosion of Captain Hitsugaya's true anger many years before, and that event had made him realize that there were few things worse than upsetting someone you truly wanted to make proud. Or someone powerful enough to raze entire cities.

(He had not, luckily, been the one to anger the Captain, and indeed this display was the only time that Noya had seen the devastating power that a Captain could wield. Despite the Captain's reiatsu remaining contained - he had a remarkable level of control over his power, something for which the entire Division had come to appreciate very much - and possibly _because_ of it, the young commanding officer had been, frankly, terrifying. The incident had helped to reign in some of the more rowdy members of the Division, and gained him some of the healthy fear that most of the other Captains had just by _being_ Captains.)

Noya almost smirked now, despite the situation, as his mind wandered to the days after the display when the Division had practically fled from their Captain in fear before they realized that he would not, in fact, snap at the slightest provocation and vaporize them where they stood.

So it was not at all a difficult task to look the creature square in the eyes and - not snarl, fury was much more effective simmering in the eyes than it was related through the mouth or hands - said, with all the contempt he could muster: "You cannot run from death, _Riddle_."

Oh, it was _so_ easy to push this creature's buttons. Noya saw the crude imitation of nostrils flare, saw the gleam in the inhuman eyes sharpen, and felt the pain thunder into him once more. But pain was pain, and he could withstand it for as long as needed, for the instant they turned their backs to him, he would _take back his zanpakuto, his partner, his soul_ , and show them the true power of a Shinigami.

Even if, writhing on the floor with muscles locked and limbs stiff, at the moment he wanted nothing more than a cessation of pain.

But finally it did stop, and though it took him longer and with considerable reluctance to any kind of movement, Noya dragged himself back up. He would not be beaten down, for this was temporary, and the creature's time was coming. It was coming soon.

"Why did you do it?" he asked in between breaths. The sharp taste of copper coated his tongue; he grimaced and spat, directly onto the creature's bare feet, and took grim satisfaction in that, even if it did earn him more pain.

When he worked his way back up to a semi-upright position, the creature that fancied itself exempt from death was focused on him, intent in a way no human could ever be. "Do what?" it responded, and Noya bared his blood-coated teeth at it.

" _Split your soul._ "

An instant of utter, primal terror before the fury rose up and swallowed it. The last Noya saw was an unearthly green light before there was a terrible wrenching pain in his chest and the darkness took him.

~oOo~

Harry shot up in his bed, pounding heart drowning out all sounds and gasping air but taking in no oxygen. He twisted out of bed and thumped to the ground, unable to properly maneuver his limbs, and kicked out of his tangled bedsheets with incessant fervor. Suddenly they were gone, and he stumbled out of his dorm, crashed through the bathroom door, and collapsed to his knees before one of the toilets. His chest was heaving, and he could vaguely hear himself wheezing, but he couldn't breathe, and his hands were shaking, so badly that they skidded off the edge of the bowl, and-

There were hands on his shoulders, keeping him from face-planting into the toilet water, but he couldn't be grateful, couldn't talk, his mouth was open and he gasped for air, but there was none, there was no air, there was _no air_ -

His head was spinning, no that was the world - there was the toilet, the wall, the Ron, and he couldn't - he clawed at his throat, his mouth, desperate to remove whatever was keeping him from _breathing_ but - hands pinned his arms to the ground and _no no no_ he had to breathe, he had to breathe, didn't they _understand_ -

His lungs were burning, they were burning, and he couldn't - everything around him was just _too much_ , voices were shouting but they hurt, they hurt, they hurt….

He was going to die. He was dying. He was dying, he was dying, he was dying, he was dying he was dying he was dying….

Something restricted his mouth; he gasped, his chest jumped - then it was gone, but he still couldn't - there it was again, then gone, there, gone, there, gone, there, gone…. It was a comforting rhythm, he recognized dimly, and slowly his thoughts pulled away from their panic and he realized that he was curled up on the ground, head tucked against his chest and arms raised, as if to defend himself. Fingers were running through his hair… It was a soothing gesture. He'd never felt it before.

Someone was talking to him. He didn't bother to make out the words, but the tone was comforting, and his fuzzy brain allowed itself to latch onto the fact.

Why was he on the ground? Where was he?

Harry cast his mind back, lazy, in no mood to rush. He was dreaming...no, having a vision. Of a strange man, screaming. No, not screaming, too contained…. He was torturing him, with the _Cruciatus_ … He was enjoying it, but then….

" _Why did you do it?"_

The hand carding his hair stopped, slid down to his shoulder, and squeezed it. "Harry, can you hear me?" a gentle voice asked, but he paid it no mind. There was…

" _Do what?"_

Harry was curious. What did this man know about him - no, not him. Voldemort. It was Voldemort. He was seeing this through his enemy's eyes.

He had an enemy. The statement seemed odd. He was just fifteen.

" _Split your soul."_

Harry gasped and shot bolt upright, his heart resuming its frantic pase. The person behind him - Madam Pomfrey, when did she get here? - sat up with him. "Harry? Harry, it's alright. You're fine. You are safe. You are at Hogwarts, in Gryffindor Tower. You're safe. Harry, listen to me. You are fine. Everything is fine."

Harry found himself listening to her, and his racing heart slowed down. "Madam Pomfrey?" he asked in a shaking voice, lifting a hand to his face. It felt numb and tingly at the same time.

The medi-witch smiled. "Yes, that is me. Good. Can you tell me what happened?"

But Harry shook his head - an odd movement, it felt stuffed full of cotton. "No, I need to- He split- I need to- I need-"

He wasn't sure what he needed. He wanted to run, he felt trapped suddenly, the stall felt tiny, like it was suffocating him. Maybe if he just-

Madam Pomfrey didn't touch him, but for a long time - he wasn't sure how long, time was slippery at the moment - she just talked to him, steady and reassuring, and eventually he talked back, telling her what had happened, But when _he_ realized what happened, what he'd done, he felt utter shame well up. He was a failure. Just like his Aunt and Uncle told him. He was a freak.

And no amount of talking could fix that.

~oOo~

Hitsugaya's arrival in the general barracks caused reactions ranging from mild apprehension to crippling dread. Most of the newest members of the Division crept out of their rooms and glanced around at their elder comrades for a hint about what was about to occur.

"Inspection," he said, confirming the fears of many. He made a gesture. "Line up."

So, for a good chunk of an hour he and his Eighteenth, Nineteenth, and Twentieth Seats went around to each room for inspection - a task that Hitsugaya was not at all fond of, given his own memories of inspections during his Academy days. But it was a necessary evil, and with all the time that he had spent away recently, he needed to make sure that no one was slacking off.

Unfortunately there were more than a few who had taken the opportunity of his absence to get sloppy, mainly with cluttered rooms and a distinct scent of sake. Coming out of the last room in his section, Hitsugaya held back a sigh as he marked down the results on his clipboard. He would combine his notes with his lower seats', and proceed from there.

The cuts on his cheek were starting to itch. Hitsugaya rubbed them absently as he waited for his subordinates. When they were finally done, he briefly glanced over everything then looked up to address the troops standing at rest along the walls. "I understand the temptation to relax your standards without the presence of a commanding officer," he said, pitching his voice so that they could all hear, "but that is no excuse for the state of some of your quarters."

Most of the Shinigami weren't able to hold his gaze for more than a second or two. Some weren't even able to meet it at all. A few, he was pleased to note, seemed only uncomfortable to do so.

Hitsugaya exhaled. He hadn't been getting enough sleep lately, and found he had no energy or will to give his usual lecture. "You will receive a collective score tomorrow. Dismissed."

And, ignoring the surprised look of his officers, Hitsugaya left the barracks, pausing a moment outside to let his eyes adjust to the light. Then he set off across the Division courtyard and headed for his office, the three accompanying officers melting away. Perhaps they sensed his mood and knew that it was best to leave him alone.

But his Third Seat was either willfully blind or actually blind; he came up to Hitsugaya as they reached the shaded walkway that wrapped around the buildings and provided a more peaceful path to the offices. "Captain," he said, bowing. There was a stack of papers in his hands, and he had to hurriedly straighten up and lean the pile against his chest to prevent them from toppling over. Hitsugaya eyed the whole thing with distaste. "These are the ones that-"

"Need my signature? Yes, I figured. There is too much to go anywhere else." Hitsugaya glanced away, unable to totally mask his expression. He had never thought that there would be so much paperwork, before he was a Captain. There was a strange misconception among the unranked Shinigami that the Captains did little work - a belief that he now knew was completely unfounded and had no idea how it had started, though he did have to admit to believing it before rising in the ranks.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I tried to do as much as I could." The Third Seat started to bow again, one hand planted firmly on top of the stack to prevent any mishaps, but Hitsugaya waved him down.

"I know. And I do appreciate it."

The Third Seat glanced down, blinking, but Hitsugaya continued walking, not looking at the officer. He briefly toyed with the idea of giving the man his signature stamp and telling him to go wild - but of course that wouldn't work. The Third Seat tended to be a bit prudish at times, and would likely either refuse to use the stamp or take it and then return it to his desk within a quarter hour.

They arrived at the office and Hitsugaya unlocked it, this being the first time he had entered it today. With Matsumoto and him spending so much time down in the Living World, the room was getting far less use than it normally did.

Then again, so were the bars, and he suspected they were even less happy about the situation than the Vice-Captain herself.

"Priorities?" he asked, slipping the key into his pocket and immediately opening one of the windows. Fresh air spilled in, replacing the stuffy atmosphere inside, and instead of going to his desk Hitsugaya elected to remain by the window and enjoy the breeze.

The Third Seat placed the stack on his desk, then separated a good portion from the main chunk. "These relate to your current assignment, and these deal with Division functions."

With some deal of reluctance, Hitsugaya hauled himself away from the window and over to his desk, eyeing the paperwork. "Very well."

The officer bowed, left, and Hitsugaya began the dreary work of compiling information, sorting out the Division's financials, examining troop dispersion, and so on. It was beginning to drag on into the evening when a new batch of papers arrived, and among the first of the papers was a letter from Fourth Seat Noya Sanzo's family. Reading it, Hitsugaya leaned back in his chair and sighed, running a hand down his face.

Assurances that they were doing all they could to locate their son and brother did very little to comfort relatives, as the Captain very well knew, and he was wearied beyond belief that the family had had to find out about the situation through a letter. It was not the Captain's preferred method of informing the families, despite knowing that most of the other Captions preferred the quick and easy route. But it was an unfortunate fact that comforting the family of a missing soldier ranked low on the list of priorities.

Hitsugaya put the letter aside and picked up the next paper, scanning quickly through it. Then, he blinked, read it over again, dropped it, and hurried out the door.

~oOo~

The Twelfth Division was not a place that one enjoyed visiting - or even walking past. Hitsugaya in particular always kept an eye out for suspicious...well, _anythings_ , given Kurotsuchi's clearly stated desire to study him. So it was with extreme caution that the Captain made his way through the buildings and up to the large office/lab that was favored by the Division's head. Inside was filled with monitors and jars and containers full of Hitsugaya-didn't-even-want-to-know. On one side of the room was the creature Hitsugaya had captured over a month ago, now identified as a dementor, encased in a sterile, transparent cage. Whatever powers it had was nullified by the material.

Kurotsuchi himself was standing before a table pushed back against one wall, fiddling with metal rods attached to long wires that hung from the ceiling. The object he was using them to prod at was a Wizarding device Hitsugaya had sent him to study - something called a 'Sneakoscope'.

"Don't touch anything," Kurotsuchi snapped, not looking up from his project. "Sit down - over there."

Hitsugaya glanced over at the chair being offered, and decided to decline. It was probably rigged. "I received a report saying you found something odd about the glasses."

Letting go of the metal rods, the Captain of the Research and Development Institute gave an irritated hiss. "Yes, yes, that," he muttered. "It came from that boy - the one with the dual souls, correct?"

Hitsugaya nodded, eyeing the other man warily. He'd been recently admonished for slipping something into one of his subordinate's drinks, so it was doubtful that he would try anything - but then, with Kurotsuchi it was never a wise idea to turn one's back on him. Or any of the Captains, really, but it was unlikely someone like, oh say, Ukitake, would try to inject an unwary victim with experimental chemicals.

"The _imbeciles_ down in communications finally got a scanner working, and we found out that there were seven other bits of reiatsu that matched the parasite's signature."

"Parasite?"

Kurotsuchi rolled his eyes and tugged on his ear. It came off with an unpleasant squelch. "Obviously a being only has one soul. Even you should know that."

Hitsugaya decided to ignore the scientist. He was like Kusajishi Yachiru - sometimes if you ignored her, she would just give up and go away.

Every once in awhile.

"The reiatsu imprinted onto the glasses is faint, but we know that there are two distinct variations," Kurotsuchi continued. "The first belongs to the human boy. The other belongs to that creature you are hunting."

"Voldemort," Hitsugaya said, partly for clarification and partly just to see the look of disgust. Most Shinigami felt the same about the name.

"Yes, _that_ ," Kurotsuchi confirmed, grimacing. The paint on his face wrinkled. "Ludicrous to think he can escape death - but that's what psychopaths think-"

" _Takes one to know one,"_ Hyourinmaru rumbled.

"-right up to the moment we liquefy his brain," Kurotsuchi finished, looking like he'd just figured out a new way to modify himself. He stuck his ear back on. "For some reason the old man wants to you to be able to identify any of those-" He waved a careless hand in the direction of the contained creature. "-though it would be much more useful if you got yourself killed by one of them. Give us enough data…."

Hitsugaya let him ramble. He wasn't bothered by his peer contemplating the various ways his death would benefit scientific research; he just wished the madman would get to the point so he could get out of there. He was getting hungry.

"And did you make one?" he interrupted, cutting off what was shaping up to be a long spiel about what Kurotsuchi would like to study about him. "A personal scanner?"

Kurotsuchi sneered at him for a moment. "Children are so impatient these days," he said, but moved away towards his workbench. He came back with a small device in his hand, looking vaguely like Hitsugaya's soul phone, but without all the buttons. "It has two settings. One for dementors, and one for the soul fragments. Dementors it can accurately pinpoint. Soul fragments only if you get within several hundred meters."

 _That seems like a design flaw,_ Hitsugaya thought, but let it go. He could tell the scientist was already getting short tempered, so he slipped the device into his pocket and nodded at the other Captain. "Thank you for your assistance."

"Tch," Kurotsuchi hissed. "Get me a live subject while you're down there."

"I will see what I can do," Hitsugaya replied neutrally, then left. He didn't stop until the Twelfth Division compound gates were far behind him.

" _Are you going to bring him a live creature?"_ Hyourinmaru asked curiously.

" _Hell no. I'm not that cruel."_

The dragon was quiet for several minutes. Then: " _That can be debated."_

" _Like you're one to talk. Remind me - who bit off the head of that Hollow?"_

A deep, pleased sound rumbled through their inner world. " _Ah, that was a good day."_

Hitsugaya allowed himself a smirk at the memory. " _Yes, it was."_

~oOo~

Harry woke with a start. For a moment he lay in bed, panting, staring at the darkness that surrounded his bed. "Damn it," he muttered, rolling over and fumbling for his glasses. "Not another one."

He hadn't had any more visions since his panic attack a few days ago-

Ugh. 'Panic attack'. It made him sound so weak.

Anyway, after the incident, he'd _finally_ gotten to see Dumbledore. The old man had the _gall_ not to admit that he'd been avoiding Harry. He'd pretended like nothing was wrong! But at least he'd listened this time. He'd sat on a chair at the side of Harry's bed, stroking his beard, while Harry related what he remembered. For a while Harry worried that the man who was being tortured was part of the Order - but no one had gone missing recently, nor was there anyone in the organization fitting that description. Still, Harry felt sorry for the guy. The green light was the killing curse, no doubt about that. Hopefully he didn't have a family waiting for him.

Dumbledore had seemed more concerned about what the guy had asked - 'split your soul'. It obviously meant something to the old wizard. Not that he shared with Harry. No, _his_ punishment for being dragged into an evil maniac's brain and watching him torture someone was to have lessons with Snape to learn to defend his mind.

Snape.

Personal lessons.

 _Why. Me._

"Hey Harry!"

The curtains around his bed were flung open, and light speared into his eyes. Harry groaned and threw an arm over his face. "Ron, go away!" he groaned.

"Nah, man, can't. Angelina's called a team meeting. C'mon, get up."

Harry collapsed onto the bed. Sometimes, Angelina was even worse than Oliver Wood about Quidditch. She was like Wood 2.0 in terms of crazy.

When he finally managed to drag himself down to the Great Hall, breakfast was just getting started. He was up far earlier than normal, and there were less people in the large room than he was used to. Hermione was already seated. She was calmly sipping a glass of pumpkin juice while reading some thick book.

"Hey," Harry said, collapsing onto the bench beside her. He pulled the rack of toast towards him and started slathering on butter and jam.

"Good morning," Hermione replied. She glanced over. "What are you doing up this early?"

"Team meeting after breakfast." Harry took a bite of toast. "She's freakin' out 'cause of the game," he said around the food. His friend grimaced.

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

"Yeah, sorry." A loud burst of laughter caught his attention; Harry turned around to see Malfoy with his hands clutching his chest, eyes wide and a fake panicked look on his face. The Slytherins watching laughed.

"He's just a bully. Ignore him," Hermione said firmly, and shoved him back around.

Harry glowered down at the half-eaten slice of toast. Suddenly he wasn't so hungry anymore.

The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. A few minutes after Ron arrived the mail owls swooped in, and the air was filled with the thumping of feathered wings. A stocky barn owl landed before Hermione, and she untied the newspaper from around its leg before giving it a slice of bacon. It clicked its beak and took off again.

"Anything good?" Ron asked. Hermione scanned the front page and shook her head, scoffing.

"More Umbridge nonsense." She tossed the thing onto the table. "Ugh! This is useless! No one cares that a Weird Sister got married. _Or_ about an exodus of cats."

"Aren't all the Weird Sisters already married?" Ron asked, nose scrunched.

"I thought so," Harry chipped in. Hermione groaned.

"Children!" She pushed herself up and stormed out of the Great Hall. Harry leaned across the table and fist-bumped Ron.

"Seriously though, anything in there?" Ron said, grabbing a plate of hash browns. He reached for it the same time as Dean, and the two boys had a small war over the food, ending with it going flying and smacking a fourth year Ravenclaw in the back of the head. She turned around and started yelling.

Meanwhile Harry was looking over the newspaper. There was a full page dedicated to descriptions of missing people. There was one boy who looked just about the right age to attend Hogwarts. Harry's shoulders dropped, and his gaze fell. Even with all of this going on, how could the Ministry not acknowledge what was going on? It was right under their noses!

He shook his head in response to his friends query - then froze. On the very bottom of the page was the picture of a man who looked familiar. "Ron, Ron, look!" Harry shoved the paper in his friend's face. "It's him!"

"Who? What? Get that outta-" Ron batted the paper down. "What's going on?"

"It's _him_! The guy from my dream! You know, the one V-"

Harry cut himself off, suddenly realizing just how loud his voice was getting. He was starting to attract side-long looks from other people. "The _eh_ guy."

"Wh-what is _eh_?" Ron mimicked, getting a very stupid look on his face as he overemphasized Harry's gesture.

"You know the- Mm!" Harry stood and grabbed his friend's robes. "C'mon!"

"Hey!" Ron protested, scrambling to get to his feet before Harry dragged him out of the room. "Watch it!"

The two boys nearly bowled over Angelina as she entered the Great Hall to gather her team. She shouted after them, but neither bothered to respond. Once they were a nice, safe distance from the more traveled areas of the castle, Harry let go of Ron and jabbed a finger at the picture.

"This is the guy Voldemort was torturing!"

Ron flinched but took a longer look at the picture. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course. I couldn't forget him."

"Let's go find Hermione."

Their female friend was seated near the front of their Charms classroom, which was mercifully empty. Ron and Harry slid into the seats on either side of her, and Harry once more showed her the newspaper.

"I don't know, Harry, I don't think-" she started, looking unsure.

"It is! I swear it's him!"

Harry was starting to get frustrated. _He_ was the one with the visions; if he said this was the guy, then this was the guy! The memory of that dream was burned into his mind; it wasn't as if he could ever forget what had happened. So why wouldn't they just listen to him?!

"But Harry," Hermione said, adopting a patronizing tone, "that says the guy is in St Mungo's. Didn't you say You-Know-Who killed him?"

"No, he-" Harry started to protest. Then he paused. Yeah...that green light, it _was_ the killing curse. Harry was sure of that. But if that was true, then the guy wouldn't be alive right now. Was it possible...was he wrong? Was this a different guy? He stared down at the picture. But it _looked_ so much like him! Surely it was the same man….

"No, he must have dodged or something," Harry denied. He shook his head. "Yeah, then he got away. This is the same person."

"He got away - from You-Know-Who?" Hermione asked. "Harry, no one gets away from V- him."

"I did."

"Yeah, well, you're not normal," Ron put in, leaning over the desk so he could look at his friend. "Mate, face it, this isn't the same guy. That guy's dead."

"But…"

Harry didn't get any further chance to protest, as Flitwick walked in then and started the lesson. But Harry found himself having a difficult time concentrating on much of anything. When they were told to practice the movement curse, his quill went flying across the room like a dart. Amongst the resultant admonition from Flitwick, his mind wandered. If he was wrong about this, about recognizing a face, what else was he wrong about? What else had he seen that was a lie?

Was everything he was seeing a lie? What if nothing that happened was real?

How much could Voldemort control him?

What if he manipulated him into doing something? He could attack his friends! He could kill them!

The recently returned quill exploded under his wandering attention. Harry absently watched it burn, watched the flames dance over the polished wood desk.

If nothing was real, then that fire wasn't real. It was just a figment of his imagination.

Harry stuck his hand into the fire.

 _NOPE! That's real! That's very very real!_

 _OW!_

"You idiot," Hermione said, dousing the flames. "What'd you do that for?"

Harry was too busy blowing frantically on his hand to respond.

~oOo~

The house was little more than a ramshackle hut, its cracked walls held up by the creeping vines that had found purchase in the crumbling stone. Part of its roof was sagging alarmingly, a corner of it missing altogether. It seemed that even the slightest breeze, or a falling seed would cause it to finally collapse. Hitsugaya checked the display of his soul phone one last time before slipping out of his place in the dark trees and approaching the door.

The hinges gave a wailing protest, and the rotting wood gave way under his hand as the Captain pushed the door open. His eyes, already adjusted to the dim light outside, took a few seconds to become adjusted to the thick gloom in the building. He stood still for several minutes, shoulder blades pressed against the ancient stone walls. When ten silent minutes passed he entered the house.

A thick coat of dust carpeted the floor and hung in the air, illuminated by the lone ray of sunlight that had somehow filtered through the overhanging trees. There was one room, off of which two openings led, one with its door hanging off one hinge and the other lying half-propped up against the frame, as if someone had wanted privacy but was too weak to fully get it off the floor. One one side of the room was a cold fireplace, flanked by a wooden stool with only two legs and a rat-bitten armchair; on the other was an ancient stove with a rusted hole on one side, and a shelf above it which had long ago cracked and sent three pots tumbling.

Hitsugaya took all of this in by his second visual sweep from his place just to the right of the doorway. What caught his attention, however, was not the scuttling sound of rats, or the skeleton of a large snake coiled in the stove; he felt, as he took a deliberate step forward, the unmistakeable broken presence of a soul.

There were also traces of diluted reiatsu scattered about the room, and the Captain took a roundabout route to the center of the room to avoid what were clearly traps. He stopped and looked down, could vaguely see a cluster of shadows settled over several loose planks of wood. Sheathing his sword, he held out his hands and began to chant.

It was a long incantation, one that he had learned during his studying for the Captain's exam, one that he hadn't had to use since. In preparation for this trip he had made himself familiar with it once more, but this would be the first time that he would use it out in the field, to actually accomplish something.

As he spoke, a strand of golden light looped around his wrist, winding its way up his arm to drape across his shoulders. One end came to rest on his chest, just above his heart. The other end reached the dusty floor and split apart, each glowing thread finding a crack in the aged wood and flowing through. Soon they highlighted a rectangular section of the floor. With a flick of his wrist, Hitsugaya lifted the portion of wood and set it aside, revealing a two-foot deep hole hidden beneath the floorboards. A small box rested inside, about the size of a business card, carved with an inscription in a language Hitsugaya couldn't read.

The golden threads enveloped the box for a long minute before coalescing back into one strand and drawing away. The rope faded as Hitsugaya picked up the box. Inside was a golden ring, nestled in green velvet. Set on the ring was a black stone engraved with a symbol that seemed vaguely familiar: a triangle, inscribed with a circle and bisected by a line.

A dark feeling was oozing out of the stone, different than the violation of the natural order of the soul embedded within. This feeling was repulsive, dirty, and made Hitsugaya want to hurl the thing away from him. Instead he closed the box with a soft _snap_ , placed the wooden lid back over the hole, and exited the house. The air outside seemed light, sweet, despite the shade of the trees overhead. Taking a deep breath, Hitsugaya turned back to the house and muttered a quick Kido, erasing all traces of his presence. The rotting door closed with another wail.

Within a half-decade, the darkness that settled over the house dissipated, and wildlife soon made it their home. The children of the nearby village would go to the house at night, the older ones on Hallowe'en, to prove their daring and courage. The building endured these visitations with a quiet dignity, and would have stood for years more if a little girl, determined to prove to her brothers that she was not scared, had not entered early in the 2000s, been bitten by a venomous snake, and died. In an effort to placate the dead girl's family, the house was torn down, the rubble taken away.

But nothing else was built there for a long, long time.

For the magic of wizarding dwellings are not easily forgotten, and that land belonged to one of the oldest families of them all.

~oOo~

It was wintertime when Harry realized that he was becoming an insomniac. He didn't notice, at first, that he found himself lying awake for hours, staring up at the red cloth curtains. He put his sleeplessness down to the cold that he was still getting over, but that excuse couldn't hold up weeks after his nose stopped running and he stopped coughing.

He really started paying attention when Ron made an offhand comment one day over breakfast.

"Course," he had said, spooning scrambled eggs onto his plate, "we both keep sleeping in, we might just skip her class anyway."

It was a Monday. Harry remembered that clearly. They were complaining about the horribleness of that day's classes, with Snape, Trelawney, _and_ Umbridge all in a row.

"I'm just tired," Harry had protested defensively. Ron snorted.

"For the past week?"

That had been three weeks ago. Then, he could have dismissed his restlessness as a passing ill. But now, being hyper-aware of how much time it took him to fall asleep each night, he had to admit that there was something going on. If only he could find out what.

He'd found that taking a walk around the castle, while lengthy, often tired him out enough that he could go to sleep when he got back to the dorms. So it was on one of these nights, after staring mindlessly at the curtains and watching the dots dance in the dark, that he rolled out of bed, pulled on the Invisibility Cloak, and set off with the Marauder's Map in hand. The fat lady didn't wake up as her portrait swung open, so used to being moved late at night (or early in the morning). Harry wandered down his normal route that would take him past the kitchens, up the Astronomy tower, then back down and around to the Gryffindor common room.

Going up the tower steps took a while, especially if one of the patrolling teachers or prefects came along, but Harry liked the view from the top. The stars were barely visible back in London, with the smog and the light pollution, so the climb was worth it. It was relaxing, in a way.

It was pure coincidence that Harry saw him at all.

He had just set his foot on the first step of the stairs when his foot slipped out from under him and he went flying, landing elbow- and knee-first on the hard stone.

"Ow!" he moaned, twisting around to sit on his rear while he rubbed his sore joints. "What the hell?"

He looked down and saw that the stone was shiny; there was a partially-open window just above the stairs, letting the snow in. The accumulated snow had melted, then frozen on the stair, forming an invisible layer of ice.

"Stupid design," Harry muttered, gingerly pulling himself to his feet and testing his hurt leg. It held his weight - it wasn't nearly that bad of a fall, but it _did_ hurt, and he was sure to have a spectacular bruise in the morning. He leaned out to close the window, and that was when he saw it: a flash of something in the snow. He turned his head, looked again. Saw the lake, dark and placid, but nothing bright. Deciding he must have imagined it, Harry reached for the window once more. His eyes fell on a moving patch of shadow, briefly blotting out the brighter spot of the lake.

Harry stretched as far out of the window as he could, trying to get a view of what it was.

The thought crossed his mind that without his new glasses he wouldn't have noticed anything at all.

It was a person….probably.

Harry kept staring, long enough that he started to wonder if he hadn't just been seeing things. But then his tenacity paid off, as the moon moved out from behind a cloud and illuminated the snow, making it glow with a light that seemed something less than earthly. But in the snow, now glowing nearly the same, was a human-shaped blob. The moonlight dimmed, but Harry had made his mind. He jumped out the window.

The reason why so many people hated going to Astronomy class was that they had to climb the tower, which only had one staircase.

And started at ground level.

Harry was grateful for this now, as he could very easily land on the ground and start slogging his way across the field, but he remembered complaining about it to Ron during their first year. This was before they were friends with Hermione, and so didn't have access to her repository of sometimes-useless information. They'd eventually stopped griping about it, focused on other things.

As Harry struggled to walk through the thick snow, he suddenly remembered a spell that Hermione had once cast, after getting annoyed with he and Ron. Their pumpkin juice, whenever they tried to drink it, would get a texture like rubber. Harry wished he could remember what spell she used. It would make walking across the snow so much easier.

The place where the person had been was completely empty - of anything. There were no people, no clothes, not even any footprints. Harry looked around for several minutes, baffled, but found nothing. He was just about to go back inside, sure his tired mind had been playing tricks on him, when a loud sound came from the lake. He whirled around to see a large tentacle break through the thin film of ice on the surface of the water and make a sweeping motion. Whatever it was doing, it must have been unsuccessful, as it tried several more times to swat at something before another tentacle rose up and joined in the pursuit. Harry watched this with interest. The giant squid that lived out in the lake was known to be peaceful to both wizards and the merpeople, so for it to attack something meant that whatever it was wasn't from around here.

Harry followed the lines of the tentacles to the surface of the lake - and froze. His mouth fell open.

There, standing on the thin ice, was a boy. Younger than Harry. Maybe a first year. But white haired. And glaring up at the tentacles with a fierce expression that didn't belong on his youthful face.

There was also the fact that he was _walking on ice_ that was too weak to support people.

That too.

Harry stood there dumbly, staring as the boy avoided the tentacles with ease and - _was that a sword on his back?_ A really cool sword, yeah, but also bigger than the boy was. It looked ridiculous, and uncomfortable. How did he sit down?

The tentacles came together and Harry cringed, sure he was about to see the kid be killed, but to his astonishment, the boy leapt backward, landed lightly, and gave his attacker an annoyed look.

As if he was merely _inconvenienced_ by the giant squid trying to murder him.

The boy moved away from the tentacles, said something, turned. Locked eyes with Harry.

Even though they were separated by several yards, the intensity of that gaze stiffened Harry's spine and sent a cold trickle down his back. The boy's eyes - he couldn't tell what color they were from this distance - pinned Harry in place and made him feel like an ant under a microscope. His breath caught in his throat, and he was very glad when the boy was distracted by a tentacle swinging at him. He made a dismissive gesture with one hand.

Harry started backing away. Thoughts were running through his mind too fast to be fully formed, but he remembered hearing something that seemed appropriate now.

 _Never turn your back on a wild animal._

That kid...he had the eyes of a wild animal. A very dangerous wild animal.

Harry was too far from the castle to make it back in any sort of timely manner, but his thudding heart and pounding blood told him to run. To get away. His instincts were telling him that the kid was dangerous, that he should flee.

The boy turned back to him, looked him up and down. Raised an eyebrow. He cast one last glance at the waving tentacles and strode forward, over the thin ice and snow, directly towards Harry. He didn't even seem bothered by the thick powder, walked on top of it like a ghost. Harry saw that the kid would quickly catch up to him, so he stopped and drew his wand.

"Stay where you are," he told the kid in a shaking voice.

The white-haired boy paused, considered Harry's trembling wand, and continued forward. His hand slipped into his pocket.

" _Protego!_ " Harry said, forming a shield about himself. The kid stopped again, looking more wary this time. "Put down your wand," Harry ordered, feeling more confident. And slightly foolish.

The boy withdrew his hand from his pocket. He was wearing a strange style of robes with a coat over the top, white on black. On his feet he wore long white socks with sandals. Harry wondered if he was cold.

He said something in a foreign language, let the corners of his mouth pull down into a frown. He spoke quietly enough that Harry was sure he wasn't being spoken to. The tone was too thoughtful to be conversational.

"Your wand," Harry said again, gaining confidence. "Put it down."

This time when the boy spoke, it was in English with just the slightest hint of an accent. "I do not have one."

"What?" The tip of Harry's wand lowered, from the boy's chest to his knees. "Who are you?"

One side of the frown tilted up. "Would you like to rephrase that?"

Harry just stared. Now that the kid was closer, the could see that his eyes were a strange bluish-green, framed by thick lashes. He was young, and thin, and had an innocent look about his face that would make Mrs. Weasley fuss over him. Harry found himself wavering, confused. The kid's eyes were intense, yes, but they no longer had the edge that made him seem dangerous. He was just a kid. One who walked on ice and snow without a problem, yeah, but this was Hogwarts. Harry had seen weirder stuff.

He let his wand fall to his side. "You don't go here," he said. "Who are you?"

The kid stared at him, considering. His blue-green eyes caught the moonlight, seemed to glow from within. "Not an enemy," he said.

"Not an enemy? Your mother must have worried."

He couldn't help but tease the kid. He looked far too solemn for his age.

Not-an-enemy tilted his head. A lock of his snowy hair fell into his eye. His brows pulled together a millimeter. "I don't have one."

Harry felt a sudden surge of empathy. "Neither do I," he said.

They stared at each other a moment longer before the boy looked away, scanning the area behind Harry. He looked up at the castle, and as he did so, the moon was hidden behind another cloud. "What are you doing out so late?"

"Wandering," Harry shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

All of his earlier fear about the boy had by now melted away. In fact, now he felt embarrassed for ever thinking that such a young boy could be dangerous. If he didn't even have a wand…. Of course, he had that sword, but Harry doubted he could use it.

The boy looked at him without moving his head. "Have you seen too much or too little?"

"What?"

"Of this war. Have you seen too much or too little?"

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said uncertainly, not knowing what the boy was talking about, but figuring that would be enough of an answer. But then he tensed, sure he was about to get The Look, the one of surprise and awe. Or disgust.

But the boy's face was expressionless. "The Boy Who Lived. The savior of the Wizarding World."

Harry winced, wishing people wouldn't call him that. "I'm no savior," he told the boy firmly.

"Not according to some."

"You must not be reading the _Prophet_ ," Harry snorted. "I'm less savior to them and more demon-child right now."

"You are not a demon."

"...Thanks?"

The boy exhaled through his nose. Looked around again. Harry found his constant searching made him nervous. He glanced to the side. "We're at Hogwarts, nothing can get us here," he said, wanting the boy to stop.

For some reason the boy found this amusing. He _nearly_ smiled.

They fell into a silence. The air was still, sound muffled from the snow. The giant squid had long pulled back its tentacles, and now the black water slid up and out onto the ice.

A cold breeze blew, getting under Harry's collar, making him shiver. He realized that he had dropped his Invisibility Cloak sometime earlier, so he picked it up and wrapped it around his shoulders. Too late he realized that he wasn't alone. He quickly looked over at the boy, and saw that his blue-green eyes had widened just a fraction, staring down at his torso.

"Ah, sorry," Harry apologized. He opened up the cloak, revealing his body. "It's an Invisibility Cloak. Makes whatever it covers invisible."

"Clearly," the boy drawled. Harry laughed nervously. He shifted his weight and looked down at the map.

Over his late-night wanderings, he'd become accustomed to the habits of the teachers. Some, like McGonagall, patrolled in a very organized way, and was generally the same night-to-night. Others, Snape being the first to come to mind, tended to patrol certain areas of the castle. In Snape's case, he stayed away from the kitchens and often went by the Gryffindor portrait. For now Harry was fine, as no one was near the Astronomy tower window that he had climbed out of, but the more time he spent out the more chance there would be that someone would go by it and close it.

He looked up at the boy, wondered once more at his white hair and bluish-green eyes, his odd coat and the sword on his back. He wanted to go back inside, but...he couldn't just leave the kid out here alone, could he? Some of Harry's earlier worry came rushing back. The kid could walk on ice, on snow, wasn't concerned about a giant squid trying to squish him - who _was_ he? Was he with Voldemort?

Harry immediately dismissed the notion. There was no way a kid as young as that could be a Death Eater.

Still, he had to have come from somewhere. Was he with someone?

Harry's pulse quickened. "So," he said, clearing his throat. The boy's eyes snapped to him, glanced him over, and flicked away once more. "Why are you here?"

"Research," the boy said after a moment's consideration. "This place has many things I have not seen before."

Research? That didn't seem very likely. Harry said: "At night? Alone?"

The boy took longer to reply this time. When he did, he had turned his head so that he was looking across the field at the greenhouses. There was a faint scar on his neck, just peeking out from the neckline of his robes. Harry wondered how he got it. "People tend not to...respond positively to my presence."

 _Freak!_

Uncle Vernon's shout echoed through his mind; Harry felt another wave of empathy. "I understand," he said honestly. The boy looked over to him, directly into his eyes. Again Harry thought that those eyes didn't belong to a boy so young. There was just something about them…. In that moment, he made his decision. He looked down at the map, then back up. "Um, do you… You have somewhere to stay, right?"

The boy stared at him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "I do."

Harry's shoulders dropped in relief. He still wasn't comfortable around the other boy, considering that he knew absolutely nothing about him, but he wasn't willing to just leave the kid out here in the cold, without even a wand to defend himself with. Shifting the cloak into his left hand, he pulled out his wand with his right. The boy's eyes tracked his movements with unnerving concentration. "If you're, uh...if you're cold, I could, you know…" Harry offered weakly, gesturing with his wand.

The boy just watched him, his blue-green eyes flickering from the wand to Harry to their surroundings. "I do not know what you are suggesting," he replied evenly. Harry shrugged.

"Well, it's - it's cold tonight, and you aren't wearing that much, I just thought…. But if you don't want to, that's fine," he hurried to say. The boy spread his hands from where they had been tucked into his wide sleeves.

"Explain to me what you are saying. I am not understanding you."

Harry exhaled forcefully. His breath came out in a white cloud. "A warming charm! You know, 'cause it's cold? Snowy? You _do_ get cold, don't you?"

The boy was silent. Harry bore his heavy gaze, but was unable to meet his eyes. Something inside of him balked whenever he tried, so he ended up talking mostly at the boy's chest or at the snow. "I would appreciate that," the boy said finally. Harry's eyes shot up and made brief contact.

A cold trickle went down his spine, but when he rubbed at the spot, there was no wetness to indicate melted ice. He shrugged off the movement. "Yeah, sure. Can I have your jacket?"

"My jacket," the boy repeated, unmoving.

"Yeah. I'll but the charm on it."

"It is not-" the boy started, but cut himself off. His eyes got a distant look, as if he was seeing something only visible to his eyes. A moment later he snapped back to clarity. "Very well," he said curtly, then slipped the sash off his shoulders and juggled the long sword in one hand while he removed the white coat. Harry took it and waved his wand over it, murmuring a spell that he only half-remembered. It took him a couple tries to get it right, but when he did the fabric heated up in his hands, feeling like it'd just come out of the dryer. He handed it back and grinned at the look on the kid's face.

"Neat, right?" he said, watching the boy turn the coat over in his hands, studying it. Then he put it one, stilled for a moment, and cautiously arranged the sword on his back once more.

"Interesting," was his only comment. Harry snorted.

"A thanks would be nice." He was ignored.

"How long does it last?"

"An hour or two. Should last 'till you get home."

The boy nodded thoughtfully. His eyes got that distant look again, and he started as if slapped. He sighed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome…." Harry said, confused.

The boy glanced to the side, at the brightening sky. "We should both retire for the night," he said, and returned his gaze to Harry without lowering his chin. "Have a good day."

"Well hold on!" Harry protested, taking a step forward. "Who are you? What's your name? I deserve at least that."

Once more, the boy's eyes faded out. "Noya," he said at last.

"No-ya?" Harry tried, stretching out the syllables in his mouth. It was a weird name; he'd never heard it before. "That's different. Where are you from?"

This garnered a wry grin from now-Noya that disappeared just as quickly as it came. "A fair question," he said. "But one best answered at another time. Your teachers will catch you should you tarry here any longer."

Noya inclined his head, glanced around again. "Perhaps we will see each other again, if things go well."

Before Harry could say anything, Noya had turned and set off across the field, jogging lightly over the powdery snow as if he weighed nothing. Astonished, Harry looked down and saw that the boy left no footprints.

"Weird," he muttered, stared for a while longer, then tugged the Invisibility Cloak tighter around himself and started the journey back to the castle.

Harry wandered back up to the common room. He sat down on his bed, tired and yet energized at the same time. So many thoughts raced through his mind that it was a challenge to pin down any particular one, and by the time his roommates started stirring, he had got them in a sort of semi-order.

"Hey Ron," he said, looking up as his friend emerged sleepy-eyed from his bed. "So, I've got something to tell you."


End file.
